


The Most Beautiful Year

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7559002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You are too attractive to get that baffled by the appearance of a good looking guy.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Sharon thumped her head lightly on her desk as Nat mocked her. “He was way more than good looking,” she said defensively, voice muffled by her paperwork.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Yes, you said. The Most Beautiful Man in the World. And you specified ‘beautiful’ as the appropriate word.” There was the sound of vegetables being chopped rapidly. “Did you get his name?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I did not. Nor did he get mine.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“It’s for the best,” Nat called. She was in the kitchen, doing her prep work while Sharon did her paperwork. “You shouldn’t fuck your neighbor."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Today (the 23rd) is Nyx's birthday and to celebrate we're posting a new fic! Based on [this Tumblr post](http://nyxetoile.tumblr.com/post/146171616210/the-most-beautiful-man-in-the-world-who-lives-in)
> 
> Will update everyday until it's finished.

_January_

The first time Sharon met The Most Beautiful Man in the World, she’d just finished running. Normally after a good run she was pumped full of good endorphins, glowing with health and vigor. On this particular morning, she’d been surprised by a down pour halfway through her third mile. By the time she got back to her apartment building she was soaked through, bedraggled, with mud spattered all over both legs.

She slogged up the hill to her building feeling rather miserable and greatly looking forward to a hot shower and breakfast. The U-haul truck barely registered until she almost tripped over the ramp leading onto the sidewalk. Rubbing her now bruised _and_ mud spattered shin, she hopped in pain a moment. Clearly, the empty apartment across the hall was finally getting a tenant.

“Sorry, was that in your way?”

And they’d seen her crack her leg on the ramp. 

“No,” Sharon said, checking her shin to make sure it hadn’t broken the skin. “I should have been paying more attention.” Satisfied she’d have an impressive bruise but nothing else, she looked up, smiling, to greet her new neighbor.

And was witness to The Most Beautiful Man in the World.

He was tall and broad and blond, in a rain spattered grey t-shirt that looked at least two sizes too small. He gave her a crooked grin and a nod. “Hi.”

For a moment, she forgot how words worked. She had always thought that was a conceit of movies and comic books. But here she was, completely incapable of coherent thought or speech. She was painfully aware she was probably gaping at him like an idiot, but she couldn’t seem to do anything about that, either.

The moment probably lasted a second or two. Maybe less. Hopefully less. Then she noticed he was holding one end of a couch and realized he probably wasn’t in the mood for a messy-looking jogger staring at him. Certainly whoever was at the other end of the sofa wasn’t.

“Hiii,” she managed to get out. “I could- you want me - the door?”

Excellent work, Sharon. Show off that Ivy League education there.

The Most Beautiful Man in the World seemed to understand twitter-pated babbling because his grin widened - somehow - and he nodded. “That’d help. Thanks.”

Now with a mission and purpose in life, she pivoted and limped up to the front door and unlocked it, pulling it open as far as it would go. The Most Beautiful Man in the World walked by, still smiling pleasantly, followed by his very comfortable looking grey corduroy couch. The other end was held up by another borderline-illegally attractive man with shaggy dark hair pulled back in a little queue and a very deliberate-looking amount of scruff. He gave her a once-over and a little smile she couldn’t decide was sincere or mocking.

Once they were both inside, Deliberate Scruff said something to Most Beautiful that she didn’t catch, but made Most Beautiful laugh. She panicked for a moment that it had been something about her and she glanced down at herself, taking in the full impact of her rain soaked state. She flushed, realized she was holding the door open way too long and hurried into the lobby, letting the heavy door swing shut.

The men with the sofa were already crammed into the elevator and there was clearly not enough room for her as well. The Most Beautiful Man in the World made a valiant effort to hold the door open for her but she waved him off, heading for the stairs. The four story hike would be far less painful than being in the elevator with them trying to make small talk.

When she got to her floor she saw the door to the previously empty apartment across the stairwell from hers was open and she could hear male voices chatting. Sharon ducked into her apartment before they could come back out for another trip downstairs.

*

“You are too attractive to get that baffled by the appearance of a good looking guy.”

Sharon thumped her head lightly on her desk as Nat mocked her. She really should have known better than to tell her about her less than stellar first impression. But Nat was her best friend and her business partner and she had thought, for a brief shining moment, that she might get a little sympathy. “He was way more than good looking,” she said defensively, voice muffled by her paperwork.

“Yes, you said. The Most Beautiful Man in the World. And you specified ‘beautiful’ as the appropriate word.” There was the sound of vegetables being chopped rapidly. “Did you get his name?”

“I did not.” Sharon lifted her head and forced herself to focus on the receipts in front of her. She was going to find this discrepancy and feel like she had accomplished something. It would be good for her ego. “Nor did he get mine. Busy as he was carrying furniture.”

“It’s for the best,” Nat called. She was in the kitchen, doing her prep work while Sharon did her paperwork. “You shouldn’t fuck your neighbor. Don’t shit where you eat and all that.”

Sharon squinted at the doorway. “How many busboys have you corrupted?”

There was a pause, filled with the sounds of chopping and a clatter of pans. “That’s different,” Nat said finally. “In a way I will think of soon.”

“Uh-huh.” Aha! Daisy hadn’t put in a comped dessert. Hence the numbers discrepancy. Sharon fixed the numbers in the computer and reran her numbers. Everything lined up neatly and Sharon smiled, immensely pleased with herself. “I doubt I’d have a shot at fucking him if I’d met him on my best day,” she said, packing her receipts into an envelop to file. “I don’t think you’re really grasping how attractive he was.”

“Maybe I should start hanging out at your apartment.”

“Don’t shit where I eat, Natasha.” She tucked her papers away and shut her laptop before heading out into the kitchen.

Nat was behind one of the prep tables, in her chef’s coat, dark red hair pulled back in clips. She had dispatched her vegetable pile and now seemed to be assembling pot pies. “That the new special?”

Nat nodded. “It seemed to fit the weather. Warm and hearty. I’ll have a couple ready for the servers to taste before service.”

Five years ago, Sharon and Nat had been living together in a cramped apartment near Market Street. Sharon had been working for the financial department of a tech company, Nat had been putting in crazy hours as a sous chef in a high end French restaurant near Nob Hill. They’d been twenty seven, full of passion and dreams with absolutely nowhere to funnel it. Life had been an endless slog of work and sleep. They’d been too old for the bar scene and slowly but surely falling behind their other friends who were getting married and moving out to the suburbs. In the space of eighteen months they’d attended a total of seven weddings and been in four.

Then in the space of a few months, Nat had won several cooking competitions, Sharon’s company started downsizing, and her great aunt died, leaving her a very large inheritance. This had left them with a rather large amount of cash and an equally large sword dangling over Sharon’s income. Several long conversations later, they had a plan, sort of. Nat was tired of cooking other people’s recipes over and over again. Sharon was tired of shuffling other people’s money around and chasing down employees who thought strippers and video games were reimbursable business expenses. The clear answer was to start cooking their own recipes and shuffling their own money.

They limped along for six months while probate closed, hunting for a good location and pricing out everything they’d need to get started. A lot of it was luck. The rest had been Nat’s passion and Sharon’s business degree. In the end Lucky 13, San Francisco’s newest bistro, had opened Friday, July 13th, to a packed house.

Most restaurants fail within the first year. Sharon had lost count of how many people told her that after they opened. They were going strong three and a half years in. Now the statistic she got quoted was five years. She tended to ignore those people.

Nat’s pot pie was delicious, as always. Sharon gave the servers her usual pre-dinner pep talk, gave Daisy a gentle reminder about inputting comps correctly. And then the dinner rush was in full swing.

By the time she staggered home at midnight she had all but forgotten her embarrassing first meeting The Most Beautiful Man in the World.

*

“Have you met the new neighbor?”

At least until two days later, when she ran into Mrs. Tortelli at the mailboxes. The building Sharon had lived in with Nat had been newer, a maze of hallways with multiple staircases and elevators. They had known the woman who lived across the hall from them - a paralegal a couple years older than them - and the old guy who lived next to the mailboxes who liked to peek out and “check” to make sure only authorized people were looking at the mail.

This building was old, a converted town house of some sort, with only three stories of apartments with four on each level. All the apartments faced out onto a central staircase. The elevator in the corner was used mostly when one was carrying heavy things. Sharon lived on the top floor and had run into just about everyone on the stairs, despite her occasionally odd hours.

Like Mr. Anders on the second floor, who was pretty clearly a hoarder, but had a magnificent garden on his little balcony and always complimented her shoes when he saw her. Or Ms. Bell, who lived in the apartment to the right of Sharon’s, who hadn’t let go of the hippie years. She was an artist, supposedly, and wore long dresses, never cut her salt and pepper hair and brought homemade baked goods to everyone at Christmastime. (Always with a wink and assurance that they were special but not “special” if you knew what she meant.)

And then there were the Tortellis, who lived beneath The Most Beautiful Man in the World. Mr. Tortelli owned a jewelry store on Pier 39 and Mrs. Tortelli was a retired school teacher. They were both nice, excellent neighbors. Sharon was pretty sure she would have hated having Mrs. Tortelli as a teacher but as someone to make small talk with on the stairs or at the mail boxes she was fine. 

“I saw him when he was moving his furniture in a couple days ago,” Sharon said, sorting her actual mail from coupons and take-out menus. “I didn’t get his name.”

“Mailbox says S. Rogers,” Mrs. Tortelli said with a faint sniff. “You’d think he’d come introduce himself.”

Great, there could only be a few hundred men’s names starting with S. She’d figure it out in no time. “Well, he just moved in. He probably needs a few days to settle in.”

The other woman sniffed again and they made small talk about the weather and the new movies neither of them had seen before going their separate ways.

“Any progress on the beautiful man hunt?” Nat asked when Sharon got to work.

Did she had some sort of sign on her today? “No, I haven’t seen him, thank you for asking.”

“I really thought you’d have his apartment bugged and a detailed dossier on his important facts.”

“I think you underestimate how much sleep I need,” Sharon told her, heading into her office. “He’s not a figment of my imagination, at least. My nosy downstairs neighbor was asking me about him.”

“Did _she_ have any good intel?”

“Just that he hadn’t been polite enough to stop by and introduce himself.”

“That ruffian!” Nat did a remarkably good offended socialite voice.

Sharon smiled to herself and booted up her laptop, sitting down at her desk. She had schedules to update, a deposit to run to the bank before it closed and their usual hostess had call in sick with strep throat, so she was going to have to step in. She did not have time to think about her gorgeous, mysterious neighbor. Life, inevitably, had to go on.


	2. Chapter 2

_February_

It was a sunny day, surprisingly warm; the sort of weather you'd never see back east this time of year. Steve's favorite thing about San Francisco was that it was never cold like New York, and never hot like the Middle East. Nothing about the weather messed with his dreams.

"Why do we keep coming to this place?" Bucky asked, pushing his soggy eggs around his plate. "The food is terrible."

"All of the other brunch places always have lines," Sam told him. "I'm on call and want to maximize my chances of reliably consuming this meal. This is fast and near the hospital." He gestured at the crowd, which featured a lot of scrubs.

"So we come here _because_ the food is so bad? Is that what you're telling me?"

Sam smeared jam on his toast and took a huge bite. "Pretty much."

"You'd think we'd be acclimated to terrible food," Steve muttered. 

"If I'd wanted to eat MRE's I'd have stayed in," Bucky told him. This was not true—Bucky had been medically discharged after losing an arm. He didn't get a whole lot of say in that. But they had a banter going on.

"That's kinda drastic," Sam replied. "You know they sell MREs. I'll buy you some. You can eat them if there's an earthquake."

"I do occasionally crave overly salty beef stew and apple sauce," Bucky muttered around his coffee mug.

"Why did they always given those little salt packets?" Steve asked. "I mean it was already twice too salty. Who put more salt on it?"

"The terrorists," Sam deadpanned, and the two of them cracked up.

They paid their check and started walking towards the hospital to drop Sam off. "How's the new place?" he asked as they strolled in the spring sun. "All moved in?"

"Steve has a crush on our neighbor," Bucky said immediately, causing Steve to put his hand over his eyes.

Sam swiveled to look at him. "Oh, _really_?"

"I just think she's pretty," he said defensively. "And she smells nice."

Sam looked at Bucky, who shrugged. "She does smell nice, when I've passed her on the stairs. Like. . . mom cooking in the kitchen when you got home from school. Homey. Safe."

"That doesn't really evoke an 'I'd like to fuck you' mental image," Sam said.

"That's really more the visual." Bucky made a little hourglass shape with his hands and Steve smacked him in the arm. "That's the fake one. Couldn't even feel it. Going to keep mocking."

There was no stopping the two of them once they got going. "So what's her name?" Sam asked.

Steve sighed and Bucky grinned. "No idea. Mr. Smooth hasn't managed to actually introduce himself."

"She always seems in the middle of something is all."

"Yes. It is absolutely that and not that you're thirty eight years old and still don't know how to talk to girls."

"That too."

"As fun as this is," Sam said. "I have to get to work. Keep me posted on your little soap opera, eh?"

"You can count on me for regular updates," Bucky assured him with a little salute.

They were halfway home before Steve said, "Also, I still don't know how to talk to girls. Usually they do all the work."

"She gives you a lot of dopey smiles," Bucky offered.

"Her smiles are not dopey," he said defensively.

"Oh, my God, just ask her out!"

"I'll think about it." That was the best Bucky was going to get right now.

"Chickenshit," Bucky said, almost affectionately. 

They walked back to their building, stopping at the corner store down the block to stock up on soda, bread and some other groceries. They played a game of seeing how many bags they could stack onto Bucky's prosthetic arm as they hiked up the hill.

When Steve opened the lobby door he almost stepped on Pretty Neighbor Who Smells Like Home. She was crouched in front of the mail boxes, trying to gather up a bunch of papers and manilla envelopes that had clearly spilled out of her laptop case.

"Why do you do this to me?" she was muttering. "I specifically said not to do this. I've treated you well. Got your zipper replaced over Christmas. And this is the thanks I get?"

Without saying anything, Steve crouched down to help her pick her papers up.

"Thanks," she said with a sigh. "I need to just get a new one. I'm stupid and sentimental and-" She looked up at his face as he handed her a stack and her mouth opened and closed a couple times. "Hiiii."

She didn't look all that happy to see him. "Hi," he said cautiously.

For a second her expression could only be called panic, then she got it under control and smiled, taking the papers from him. "How do you like the building so far?"

"It's been nice. Interesting collection of people, very San Francisco."

She grinned. "Ms. Bell likes to say we're the last building full of cranks left in the city." He helped her scoop up the last of her papers and they stood. "Thanks," she said again.

He grinned back. "Any time."

She stared a moment, then Bucky cleared his throat and she jumped. "Have a good day," she said brightly. He grinned stupidly, and watched her head for the stairs.

"Well, you successfully had a conversation," Bucky said as they got in the elevator with the groceries. "But you still don't know her name."

"I noticed that, yeah."

"I am _this close_ to conducting this relationship for you. Like in that play. Cyrano."

"You're not ugly enough," Steve replied.

The elevator clunked to a stop and the inner doors slid open. Bucky pushed the outer door open with his shoulder. "You're very sweet, thank you."

Pretty Neighbor Who Smells Like Home was coming up the last flight of steps as they crossed to their door. She waved in that awkward way you do when you see someone you've already said goodbye to, then went to unlock her own door.

By the time he remembered he wanted to ask her her name, she was already inside.


	3. Chapter 3

_March_

Sharon and Nat didn't get a lot of overlapping nights off. Sharon could usually go home early Sundays and Nat occasionally handed over the kitchen to one of her other chefs on a slow weeknight. The restaurant was closed Mondays. Other than that, they made an appearance every night. Restaurants didn't run themselves and being a presence in the building gave the servers a clear person-in-charge to take issues to.

But when two of their best still-single college friends made it into town, exceptions had to be made.

"I still think we're too old for the bar scene," Melinda said, peering at the crowd as if trying to determine who smelled bad.

"You wanted to sit on someone's couch and watch Terms of Endearment?" Maria asked.

"I was thinking more Die Hard, but sure."

"I've missed you girls," Nat said fondly.

"How about after we're drunk,” Sharon suggested, "We then go home and watch Die Hard."

"Assuming we have not picked up men," Maria agreed, tapping her glass with Sharon's.

She groaned. "Seriously?"

"I'm just not ruling it out."

"Oh my God," Nat said suddenly.

The rest of them swiveled to look at her, then whatever she was looking at. "What?" Mel asked.

Sharon saw him at the other end of the bar. The Most Beautiful Man in The World.

"Oh my God." She ducked her head and hunched down, facing away from him.

"Who is that?" Maria asked.

"Sharon's neighbor that she wants to bone."

"I don't want to- Okay, I do, but I won't 'cause I'm pretty sure he's gay."

Maria sighed. "All the good ones are."

"We should find you someone else," Nat said. "Get you back on the horse so you stop thinking about him."

"Do we really need the horse metaphor for sex?"

"Yes." The three of them said that in unison.

"Ew." She sighed and finished her drink. "Fine. I'm going to go pee and order us another round. When I get back we can start hunting men for sport." She pushed her chair back and started to stand, turning -

And ran right into a waitress with a tray full of drinks. 

The crash was loud enough to be heard even in the crowded bar. People applauded. The Most Beautiful Man in the World looked right at her.

The earth never opened up and swallowed you when you needed it.

Nat hopped to her feet, using a fistful of napkins to wipe at her face. "Are you okay?"

Her shirt was probably ruined, her hair was wet and sticky and the alcohol fumes were burning her eyes. "Just shoot me," she muttered.

"I'm so sorry," the waitress said. "Let me get you guys another round."

"Let's get you cleaned up," Nat said, steering Sharon towards the bathrooms.

Across the bar, The Most Beautiful Man in the World started towards them. He was staring, and she stared back. Nat gave her a little shove, and then the crowd swallowed them. 

"He's boyfriend's pretty hot," Nat commented.

"I call him Deliberate Scruff."

"Apt."

In the bathroom Nat helped her rinse out her hair and wipe her face. She took her shirt off to rinse it out but it was clearly beyond help. Nat texted the other girls and Maria came in with her leather jacket, which Sharon slipped on and zipped up.

"I'm just going to go home."

"Come on," Nat said. "We can still have fun. You might be a little warm, but. . ."

"My make up is gone, I smell like four different kinds of alcohol and I'm in a borrowed leather jacket and no bra."

"At least come have one last drink," Maria said. "The waitress brought that round she offered.”

Sharon sighed. "All right."

"We could come over and drink at your place," Nat said as they walked back to the table.

"We could even get through a couple Die Hard sequels."

Someone had cleaned or switched out her chair so it wasn't wet and she sunk back down. The Most Beautiful Man in the World was looking their way again and she felt her cheeks heat.

"If he's gay, why do you care?" Maria asked.

"He's not gay," Melinda said before she could answer. "He wouldn't be this interested in looking at you."

"The whole bar was staring at me."

"Not anymore. I think he's trying to unzip that jacket with his mind."

Sharon's cheeks got impossibly hotter.

"He lives with an equally hot dude," Nat said. "So he might be bi, but he's clearly taken."

"Maybe they'd like a third," Maria said.

"Oooh," Nat said. "I'd do that."

Well, _that_ was going to be added to her night time fantasy pool. Sharon chugged down half her drink. "Please can we change the topic?"

There was a moment of silence, the Nat said, "How about that local sports team? How do you think they will do at their next match or meet?"

"The Warriors are having a great season," Maria said, sipping her drink. They all stared at her. "Oh, read a paper."

They laughed, breaking the tension, and moved on to Melinda's on-again off-again guy and Maria's promotion at work.

When she dared glance over her shoulder again, The Most Beautiful Man in the World was gone.

Sharon lasted another drink, but her skirt was getting itchy and the jacket was hot. The girls wanted a little more time, so despite feeling utterly lame, she said her goodbyes and caught a cab home. A long shower got rid of the last of the alcohol smell. And a little time with her vibrator and her new fantasy helped with the lingering sexual frustration.

The next morning she was sitting and having coffee at her kitchen table when the lock of her door rattled and Nat stepped in, still in her clothes from last night. "Good news, the roommate's not gay or in a committed relationship."

Sharon stared at her. " _What._ "

"Deliberate Scruff. James. Ran into him in the bar. One thing led to another. . ." She moved her head back and forth. 

"You hooked up with my neighbor."

"Yeah. And can I just say _damn_."

This. This was her life. Her best friend hooking up with her neighbor. "Did you get his name? Beautiful's?"

Nat shrugged. "Didn't come up."

She couldn't kill her. She had no way to dispose of the body. No one would take care of the restaurant if Nat was dead and she was in prison.

"Hey could I borrow some clothes?" Nat said, plucking at her shirt. "I'm too old for a walk of shame."

"I should make you walk home naked," Sharon grumped.

Nat ignored that, heading for the closet. "He has a prosthetic arm." 

"Delib- James? I'd wondered. I never got a good look at it."

"Combat. Literally that's all he said about it. We didn't do a lot of talking."

Sharon rubbed her temple. "Well. . . I'm glad you had a good night."

She came back out with a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "Are you mad at me?"

"No." Probably not. "Just. . . frustrated."

Nat sat at the table next to her. "Hey. You want me to go ask what his name is?"

"No. No, that would probably be weird. I should just get over this. You were right, romantic stuff with my neighbor is a bad idea."

"I'm a hypocrite, now, so I feel like I should retract that statement."

"Well, he's not _your_ neighbor." She smiled faintly. "Are you going to hook up with him again?"

Nut suddenly looked shy, a rarity for her. "I don't know."

The smile widened to a grin. "Oh, you did like him."

"The sex was really good is all." She made an attempt to look cool and casual. "Seems like it would be worth a repeat."

"Well, you have my blessing." She stood to get Nat some coffee. "But if they float that threesome thing you talk 'em into letting me join."

"We could take turns," Nat offered.

"Stubble isn't really my type."

Nat laughed and took the mug Sharon held out. "Still think you should just go across the hall and say hello."

That sounded absolutely terrifying and possibly humiliating. "I'll think about it."

"Fortune favors the brave."

"Brave people also get horribly slaughtered a lot."

"And sometimes they get laid," Nat came back with. She drank her coffee. "Sorry. I shouldn't hassle you. I'm not exactly one to give relationship advice."

Sharon didn't comment. "You gonna go home and sleep it off or you wanna do some shopping? See if the Ms are awake and want brunch?"

"We owe you a re-do on girl time. So I'm up for it."

"Awesome. Drink your coffee, I'll make the call."


	4. Chapter 4

_April_

"It's a gorgeous day. Let's go do something." There was something in Bucky's tone that made Steve vaguely suspicious. He just couldn't figure out why. It _was_ a gorgeous day, sunny and warm. And after a few days straight of fog and persistent drizzle the idea of getting out into the spring weather was extremely appealing.

"What did you have in mind."

Bucky shrugged, sipping his coffee. "There was a flyer down at the coffee shop about some festival in Japan town. Parade, people selling shit. Might be fun. Get some food, people watch. You could bring your sketch book."

Steve looked up at him. "The Cherry Blossom Festival?"

He arched a brow. "You've heard of it."

"I read the entire paper." Bucky mocked him for it. But there was hilarious entertainment in the obits and classified most days.

"Huh. So you interested? I'm feeling restless."

Steve got up and put the breakfast dishes in the sink. "You're restless and the Cherry Blossom festival is what comes to mind?"

"Well, it's something to do. We've already been to Alcatraz. I've no desire to see a fort. Pier 39 will be tourist central and it's too nice a day to spend inside a museum. Besides, you like sushi."

"This is really weird. I'm tempted to say yes just to figure out what the hell is going on."

"Well, as long as you're saying yes."

Steve had a bad feeling about this.

They had to take a trolley and MUNI to get there, which was always an adventure. San Francisco's Japantown was only a few streets, consisting of a bunch of restaurants, a small shopping mall and a movie theater. Currently it was swarming with people, the plaza outside the shopping mall crowded with booths and tables. There were lanterns hanging and, unsurprisingly, a few cherry trees conveniently blooming.

Bucky checked his phone as they hopped off the bus, then headed towards the courtyard, leaving Steve no choice but to chase after him.

"Where are we going?" he called.

He waved a hand. Steve thought at first it was to shush him. Then he saw a vaguely familiar red haired woman waving back. He realized it was the girl Bucky had hooked up with a couple times just before he noticed the blonde head next to her.

Steve stopped walking. What was going on, clearly, was a set-up. 

Bucky noticed he stopped and turned back to him. "Don't be mad."

"You know how I feel about double dates," he muttered. And he was particularly annoyed because it was _that_ woman. Suddenly he was irritated, and he walked forward and put his back to the women incase one of them was a lip reader. "Is this some sort of prank? Is Sam here with a camera?"

"No, I swear. Apparently, she really likes you, too and has been too embarrassed to say anything. Nat has been encouraging her to come knock and introduce herself and she insists it's weird. I know you like her too but didn't want to degrade into passing notes like middle schoolers. We thought this would be a nice relaxed place to get to know each other."

Now it was probably going to be super awkward. "You could have warned me." He could also man up. He'd been in combat, for God's sake. He'd been shot at and blown up and collected a chest full of medals. He'd met the President.

"I didn't think you'd come." He gestured. "Come on. We're here now. Go say hi, watch the parade. If you hate it we'll think of an excuse and go."

"What's her name? You pretended not to know, clearly that was a lie."

"I really want to make you ask her yourself, but fine. It's Sharon. And I only found out last week."

"Sharon. Okay." He really did like her. He could be mad at Bucky later.

They finished crossing the court yard, clearly breaking up a similar conversation between the women. Bucky greeted the red head with a kiss and Sharon gave Steve a genuine smile. "I swear I had no idea this was happening."

She really was pretty. Particularly because for once she wasn't in the middle of some sort of disaster. He worried about her a little sometimes. Right now she looked cheerful and relaxed. "Me either." He held out his hand. "Steve Rogers."

"Sharon Carter," she replied, shaking his hand. Her grip was firm and sure. "Very nice to meet you. So to speak."

He laughed. "We'll call those rehearsals." 

"Sounds good." They dropped their hands and she tucked hers into her pockets. "Have you been to the festival before?"

"I haven't. I'm new to the city, actually."

"Ah, I didn't want to assume. Where are you from?"

"Brooklyn. By way of fifteen states and 6 countries. It was quite the detour."

She glanced over at Bucky and Nat, who were talking and pretending not to watch them a few feet away. "Nat said your roommate was in combat. Were you in the military together?"

Steve nodded. "He was in my unit for years. War is a very effective bonding agent."

"I've heard that. Nat and I were in college together. Not the same, but we have held each other's hair back when drunk and beat up creepy boys together, so there is a bond."

"You'd be surprised how well the army sometimes meets that description."

She laughed, looking even prettier and he was suddenly very glad he'd come. "So what are you doing now?"

He felt faintly embarrassed. "I am. . .retired."

Surprised and confusion flicked across her face, then she smiled somewhat sympathetically. "Permanently, or taking a break?"

"Well, the army retirement is permanent. I did my 20 years. The idleness is temporary."

"Twenty- How old are you?" She covered her mouth with a hand. "Sorry. That's rude. You don't have to answer that."

"Happens all the time. I'm 38. There is no painting in my closet. I went to West Point, the clock started at 18."

"Wow." She glanced to the side again and made a face. He looked over to see Bucky and her friend pointedly looking elsewhere. "Wanna ditch our audience?" Sharon asked.

He grinned at her. He _really_ liked this girl. "That sounds like a brilliant plan."

Stepping closer, she tucked her arm into his and waved to the other two. They both stared back.

"Right," Steve said. "Now pick a direction and just start walking."

Aiming them towards the cluster of booths and tables, she gave him a tug and they walked away from their gaping friends.

"That felt good," she admitted when they were out of earshot.

"Seriously. They ambushed us. He's been teasing me about this for months." He cleared his throat, realizing how embarrassing that confession was.

"Nat has spent at least that long telling me I should just go over and introduce myself," she said lightly, simultaneously assuring him she had a crush on him and making it seem like no big deal.

"Well, hey, at least we've got that whole chickenshit thing in common."

She laughed. "Clearly." They paused at a booth so she could peruse the clothes. "So how do you spend your retirement?"

"Art. Mostly. It's a hobby. I never felt like I had enough time to work on it while in the army."

"Really?" She looked over at him, clearly interested. "What kind of art?"

Now was not the time to feel shy. He started walking again, perusing the booths. "It was almost exclusively drawing, but lately I've started painting. It is both a lot of fun, and harder than I expected."

"I take pictures." He noticed she didn't look at him when she said it. They really were two peas in a pod. "It was a hobby in college - I needed some sort of art for credits and I can't draw for shit. But I liked it. Picked it up again a few years ago when Nat and I were starting up the restaurant. I'm telling you, food photography is a horse of a different color."

"Food photography? Like people tirelessly documenting their meals on Instagram?"

"No, no. Like pictures of the food on a menu." She looked up at him. "Nat and I own a restaurant. I realize I forgot to tell you that."

"Really? What kind of food?"

"Upscale comfort food. Meatloaf, mac'n'cheese, fried chicken. But she puts a slightly fancy twist on it. Sometimes it's weird, but usually it's awesome." Picking up a little carved tiger she added, "Nat is the chef. I do finances and front of house."

"That. . . sounds like my kind of place." Now he was hungry.

"You guys should come have dinner some time." She set the statue down and they started strolling again. "Nat would have invited you already but that would require her admitting she likes James."

"Oh, good," Steve said. "They're dysfunctional in a complimentary fashion."

"Clearly." They poked through a couple more booths, getting closer to the shopping center. "You want to get lunch?" Sharon asked. "I think we have some time before the parade."

He looked down, almost involuntarily. "Did my stomach make noise? Or do you just have some sort of magic hungry customer sense?"

She laughed. "I'm going to say the second one so I don't have to admit I'm _always_ hungry."

He grinned. "Well. Lunch it is."

There were several restaurants in the center, all of them packed. Steve had resigned himself to waiting an hour to sit, when Sharon pulled out her phone. "Not being rude, trying to get us food faster." She texted for a few minutes, then checked the map, then tugged his arm. "Come on."

She lead him two streets over and down a kind of sketchy alley into a nondescript store front he would never have noticed, let alone thought was a restaurant. The Japanese woman inside furrowed her brow at them. "Hi," Sharon said. "I'm Vinnie's friend? He said he'd warn you."

The woman beamed. "Of course. Come sit. I have a table ready."

Steve followed her inside. "This is reminding me of the Dim Sum place a friend of mine took me to. You have to go in through the kitchen."

"Hole in the walls are often the best places. No tourists and usually pretty authentic food." They were seated at a little table and given menus and little clay cups of fragrant tea. "My fish monger recommended this place. I figured if anyone would know a good sushi place."

"I find that a valid assessment."

The menus weren't in English and neither of them were fluent in Japanese. After a chat with their very nice waitress, they decided to be adventurous and let the chef decide.

"These are absolutely tentacles," Sharon said, popping said tentacle into her mouth. "But they're delicious. I'm so conflicted."

"This is like a food-based game of chicken. You eat it, now I have to." He picked up a tentacle. "I leapt on a grenade, you'd think this wouldn't intimidate me."

She coughed on the sip of tea she was taking. "You _what_?"

He felt himself flushing. "It didn't blow up."

"Can I-" She paused and took another sip of tea. "Is that a story you're comfortable telling?"

"There's not a lot to it. We were in a fight, someone threw it. Confined space, not a lot of options. Turned out to be a dud. Bucky tells me I have the devil's own luck." _Every_ word of that description turned out to be true. 

Still looking rather amazed, she shook her head. "It's a good thing I was never in war. The only luck I have is bad. My nickname in college was 13."

He raised his eyebrows. "I really hope at least part of that is a story you're comfortable telling."

She sighed and studied the plate of sushi again. "It's no one story. Nat and I were on the same floor freshman year, along with a few other girls that we stayed friends with all four years and mostly beyond into the real world. We all ended up with nicknames. I'm that person who will trip on nothing or get splashed by the car driving through a muddy puddle. White shirts last about thirty seconds before I spill pasta sauce on them. And my lap top cases disintegrate." That last one with a little smile to him. "So I was Lucky 13."

"That explains a lot. I was kind of worried about you."

"God." She scrubbed a hand over her face. "It's almost always small things, at least. It's not like I have a long string of car accidents and muggings in my past. I like to think the spills and trips are like steam valves. Let off the bad luck a little at a time."

"Sounds a lot better than getting a lifetime's worth of bad luck in one go." He'd intended it to be lighthearted, but that wasn't how it came out. He'd seen men hit with two lifetimes of back luck, right in front of his eyes.

Sharon didn't answer right away. Then she just reached out and touched the back of his hand with light fingers. He looked up at her. "Afghanistan," he said, like it explained everything. For right now maybe it did.

To his relief, she nodded and rubbed his hand a little. "I'm sorry."

He smiled crookedly. "Sorry I just killed the mood."

"No, not at all. It's nice to see all parts of a person. I'm not one for hiding. Even the dark parts."

"Usually I save the dark parts for the second date."

She grinned. "So this is an official date?"

"Kind of feels like one." He searched her face. "Doesn't it?"

"Absolutely," she assured him. "Probably an overdue one."

That made him inordinately happy. "Good."

*

The Most Beautiful Man in the World might actually be perfect.

At one point she'd convinced herself anyone that good looking had to be an asshole. Even though Mrs. Tortelli had gushed more than once about how nice he was. But here he was, in front of her—kind, humble, an artist and a soldier, clearly very stubborn, with a streak of generosity a mile wide. "California has the highest population of homeless veterans in the country. Lots of military bases, discharge points from foreign wars, and weather where you don't freeze to death. So there's a lot of work to do, but it's just bottomless. . ."

That was the funny thing about Steve. Most men she knew would have made sure the fact that they volunteered with the homeless was a headliner in their intro speech, to better impress women. He made it sound like it was something totally mundane for everyone to spend the equivalent of a part-time job on.

"It sounds like it needs more organization. There's clearly a lot of services for them, but the vets don't have the resources to connect with them." She swirled the remnants of her green tea ice cream in the cup. "I know Veteran's Affairs offices are super overworked."

"There are a lot of patched together organizations, but nobody has any money. The biggest problem is a lot of these guys don't mind getting help from the VA-- that's from the military, it's a reward for their service—but will crawl the walls away from anything that smells like charity. And lot of charities are very patronizing and do-gooder." He slurped the last of his ice cream. "If I had to pee in a cup just to get a bed to sleep in—street drugs or booze being the only thing I could get to medicate my PTSD—I'd camp in Golden Gate Park, too. Not to mention the religious ones. Let me tell you, there are plenty of atheists in foxholes who don't want to hear about Jesus loves them but apparently couldn't be assed to save them from what I assure you is quite literally hell."

Sharon tilted her head, turning all of that over. "So you need a secular organization. Run like a business. Preferably staffed with other vets or at least no-nonsense people willing to look at the big picture, rather than hold everyone to the same narrow world view."

"And for that I'd need money."

"So get some." He looked at her and she grinned. "There's a lot of ways to earn money for a cause that everyone likes to support like vets. You do a couple of fundraisers, put up a Kickstarter or Go Fund Me page. Then you put together a business model, budget of costs, and you shop it around to a few companies and charitable trusts."

"It's not a bad idea," he said, clearly mulling it over.

"I could help," she offered, 'cause hello excuse to spend time with him. "We've held a couple fund raisers at the restaurant before. It'll get you a head start, lend you a little legitimacy."

He grinned. "That would be really nice," he replied. "And now I have an excuse to call you. On top of that whole neighbors thing."

Her cheeks were hot, but she had to return the grin. "Works out nicely." She cleared her throat. "And summer is a good time for raising money. Tax season seems ages away, everyone is feeling relaxed."

Her phone was beeping in her pocket, and Steve said, "Mine is buzzing, too. I think they're checking on us."

They both pulled their phones out. _Are you fucking him? Because if so, I'm very proud of you but if not, you're missing the parade._

"Apparently the parade started." She was not going to comment on the first sentence. 

He opened his wallet and took out cash for the bill. "Shall we?"

"Yeah. Don't want them to send out a search party."

When they got back into the alley, he reached out his hand for hers. It was big and warm and fit perfectly. They walked hand in hand, back to the main street, where the last of the parade was going past. Sharon tucked herself into his side in an effort not to get crushed by the crowd. People seemed to move out of his way. He had a presence like that. "Did she say where they were?"

"I can ask." She tried to angle her phone so he wouldn't see the previous messages. _Saw the end of the parade. Where you guys at?_

_Standing in line for tempura._

"They haven't eaten yet," Sharon reported to Steve. 

He raised his eyebrows. "What, did they go have a nooner?"

"I don't know _your_ friend very well, but that would not be out of character for Nat."

"It was certainly in character for two-armed Bucky. Now he's a little more. . .subdued. But they do seem kind of together, so. . ."

"Nat is not subdued. And, actually, very good at getting people out of their shells." They strolled over to a bench by the cherry trees. "She really does seem to like him. It's been a while since she really dated someone."

"He's a really good guy," Steve told her.

"Good. She deserves it." Glancing up at him she added, "I'll even forgive them for this set-up."

"We probably needed the push." He grinned disarmingly. "Rightly so."

"As long as they don't continue to meddle." She had no idea what gave her the nerve to say. "Hopefully we can figure the rest out from here."

His arm was draped over the back of the bench, behind her but not touching her. Until she felt his fingers brush the back of her shoulder. "There must be a manual somewhere."

She laughed, repressing a shiver. "We should Google it. Though that might be unfortunate."

"We shared a meal, browsed a street fair, watched a parade and then took a stroll. I _think_ we might be at the part where I kiss you. I think."

Nerves fluttered in her chest and stomach but Sharon shoved them down. "That sounds like a nice end to a successful date." 

He trailed his fingers up the back of her neck and then cupped his hand behind her head so he could pull her closer. Her hands flattened on his chest and she tilted her head so that when he lowered his her lips were in the exact right spot.

Thank God, that in this, at least, her luck was good.

The kiss was good, too. Not too chaste, not to intense, with just the right amount of spark. He tasted a little like ice cream.

Then she heard the sound of a fake camera shutter and Nat's voice. "Oh, that's going in Facebook."

Steve lifted his head, just a little. "Our friends are terrible."


	5. Chapter 5

_May_

Only for The Most Beautiful Man in the World would Sharon host an event like this. 

Of course, she swore after every major party and event at the restaurant that she would never do it again, and, of course, every time something came along to change her mind. 

She was pretty sure Steve could get her to agree to a lot of stuff.

Today, she was in the restaurant on her day off so they could sit down and figure out menu and theme. And she was, admittedly, very distracted by how good he smelled.

"And these are your appetizer options. Usually we suggest three or four options."

"I like all your food," he replied. She'd call it idle flattery, but she knew he was sincere.

It wasn't particularly helpful in this instance, of course. "I'll go with the three most popular. Do you have an opinion on entrees?"

"That thing with the fried mac-n-cheese is my favorite," he replied. He had a lot of favorites, but she appreciated him actually naming one. 

She was hosting a fundraiser for his fledgeling organization, which at this point was him, Bucky, and their friend Sam—who was also a vet, and honestly one of the most entertaining people Sharon had ever met. They were the perfect trio, the three of them.

"That's a start." She made a note. "How about that with a steak, then a seafood risotto and Nat can get creative with the vegetarian option." They'd do a plated salad, but she didn't mention that. He would probably not care and almost certainly wonder why. "Now, dessert. Light or decadent?"

"Depends on the entrée."

"So two options?"

He looked sheepish. "Is that breaking some rule?"

"No," she said, smiling. "There are no rules. I just want to make sure it's what you want."

He reached over to touch the back of her hand. "You're doing me a huge favor, I don't want to do anything that's going to cause you more hassle or expense."

Her hand tingled where he touched it. After almost three weeks of semi-dating she should really be able to handle a hand-touch better than this. "I'll talk to Nat. Her go-to for desserts is usually molten chocolate cake 'cause you can do pre-prep for it. I'll see how much more work a second option it. Maybe a simple fruit sorbet or something."

"Thank you," he said.

There was a knock, and then Nat opened her office door. "Hey. Bulb in the walk-in just blew. You know where the step stool is?" She looked at Steve. "You look tall. You might be able to reach it."

"Nat. He's a client."

"Pretty sure he's your neighbor slash proto-boyfriend and can change my lightbulb."

Steve stood up. "I would be happy to change your lightbulb."

Sharon hopped up as well. "I'll show you where it is."

All three of them went to the freezer. Steve had to brace on a shelf, but he could reach it, so Nat went to get a bulb. "James thinks you should wear your medals to this shindig," she as she handed it over.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Now he gets to tease me _through_ other people."

"We've agreed our powers are best combined," Nat told him solemnly.

"You have medals?" Sharon asked.

"James says he has lots," Nat replied.

"They give them out like candy these day," Steve said. "It's not a big deal."

"The grenade thing?" she asked sympathetically.

"And some other stuff. The army likes ceremonies." He seated the new bulb and the freezer was again full of light.

This was clearly something that made him uncomfortable. So despite being desperate for more information Sharon made a valiant effort to change the topic. "That reminds me. Do you want to do it black tie or cocktail attire?"

"The one that doesn't involve me having to buy a tuxedo."

"Cocktail it is." Nat smirked and coughed. Sharon rolled her eyes. "Grow up."

"Great," Steve said. "Can we get out of this freezer?"

"Yes, please." Nat hauled the door open and they all filed out.

"I think I have everything I need," Sharon told Steve as they headed to her office. "And I know where to find you if I have more questions."

"I do." He leaned over to kiss her. "Thank you."

She hadn't gotten used to kissing him, either, but she considered that a plus. She kind of enjoyed the flutters she still felt around him. Nat materialized next to her as she watched him walk away. "Can you Google what kinds of medals someone has? Is that public information?"

"Natasha don't snoop." Though it probably was. If there'd been ceremonies there would have been articles or announcements.

Nat shrugged. "I'll just ask James."

Sharon turned to glare at her. " _Nat_."

"I'm going back to cooking now."

"Yes, you do that." Sharon had a party to plan.

When she got home later that afternoon, Steve was very conveniently coming back from a run. It was both nice to look at and slightly depressing, as he still managed to look perfect after a workout.

"Hey, I stole take out from the restaurant," she said, lifting her bag. "If you want to come over for an early dinner."

He grinned at her. "I think a shower is in order first, but that sounds great otherwise."

"I'll start heating it up, just come on over when you're ready."

While she got dinner ready, she tried really hard not to think about him over there showering. Naked.

They really hadn't got much past kissing. He'd sort of cupped her breast through her shirt the other day, but it might have been an accident. Hadn't stopped her from damn near swooning. She had never been one to give it up on the first date. And with her odd schedule and him trying to get a fledgling non-profit off the ground they weren't full of free time. But this pace was going to drive her crazy. And wear out her vibrator.

When he came over his hair was damp and he'd clearly shaved. When he leaned down to kiss her this time, it wasn't particularly chaste.

She hummed softly, swaying into him. "Hello there," she murmured against his mouth.

"Hey," he replied. "Have I ever told you how good you smell?"

"How good _I_ smell? You're the one who's all freshly showered."

"Yeah, but you always smell good. Even after a run or a night at work."

Tucking her arms around his waist she tipped her head back to look at him. "That is the first time anyone has told me that. Thank you."

"People have been remiss. You are delicious."

She laughed. "Clearly, the restaurant is in my blood now."

"Dinner also smells delicious."

Which probably meant it was time to come out of the oven. "I got some of the fried mac n' cheese. Just in case I saw you."

"I'd have just showed up. I am drawn to it like a homing beacon." 

She laughed and went to the kitchen to retrieve their dinner. He loitered distractingly in the doorway, beautiful as ever, so she of course burned her arm on the upper oven rack. He finished plating up the food while she ran the burn under cold water.

"You should be dating Sam," he told her, smearing ointment on the red spot. "He has medical training."

"My mother was always trying to push me towards doctors."

"Clearly she had your best interests at heart." He wrapped it carefully in gauze. There was something very nice about this. Having someone take care of you. Not in the 'kept woman' sort of way, but just someone who was there to fill the gaps and provide an extra pair of hands. To kiss the boo-boos, so to speak.

He actually did bend his head and gently kiss the bandage over her burn.

She caught his mouth on the way up. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "You have earned your fried cheesey goodness."

"I'll get them, stay here."

"Yes, dear." She packed up her first aid kit as he fetched the plates. He had been impressed at the quality and extent of her medical supplies the first time he'd helped her patch up. Impressed, but not surprised.

"You know," he said as he set the plates down. "If we hadn't been set up, I'm convinced a day would have come when there would have been a knock on my door, you on the other side, introducing yourself and asking for a lift to the ER."

"That's probably true. I have been brought to the ER or urgent care by every roommate and friend I have, as well as a variety of neighbors."

"We go on and I'm going to have to seriously consider purchasing a car."

"I think walking is quicker. Depending on time of day."

"The company is just for companionship?"

She broke up the mac n' cheese so it could cool a little. A burned mouth would not improve her evening. "I end up with pain killers a lot. Nice to have a chaperone."

"Well. I would be honored to walk you to the ER any time you need."

It wasn't the most romantic sentiment. But it was an essential one for dating her. "Thank you, Steve."


	6. Chapter 6

_June_

The fundraiser was a smashing success.

Though if Steve was brutally honest, the best part—far and away—was getting to watch Sharon in a sparkly little dress work the room. She mesmerized him.

He could never have done this without her. She knew every name on the guest list and introduced him around, whispering little facts and mnemonics to him so he could have an intelligent conversation. When there wasn't enough vegetarian options, she and Nat managed some sort of miracle with eggplants. Someone at one of the tables was violently allergic to the centerpiece and it was whisked away, replaced by a vase of decorative rocks. Steve had had no idea how much work went into this, minute by minute, and Sharon juggled it all like it was nothing.

Part of him, maybe most of him, couldn't wait for it to be over so he could have her all to himself.

The crowd started petering out at ten. Sharon herded him to a spot near the door so he could shake hands and say goodbye to everyone. She disappeared into the kitchen for a while, then he noticed waiters slipping in around the edges of the room quietly picking up.

By midnight only the staff was left, other than him. Sharon went around and talked to all of the servers who were there, thanking them for their help and pitching in with the clean up.

Finally she made her way over to him. "Kitchen is clean, everyone is paid, Nat volunteered to lock up. I have been ordered to walk you home."

He offered her his arm. "I didn't know you took orders from Nat."

"We take turns depending on who's more tired." They paused at the entry way for her to shrug into her jacket before stepping out into the chilly summer night. "That was a rousing success by the way. Are you happy?"

"I would be happy even if it had been a disaster."

She laughed a little, hugging his arm. "It's a very good start."

"You were wonderful," he said sincerely.

"I complain ahead of time, but in the moment I really do enjoy it." She said it like it was a confession. "I wouldn't want to do it every night. But for a good cause I can be a hostess for an evening."

"Now I probably should find something awesome to do for you."

"I wouldn't say no to a foot rub," she said.

He grinned. "It's a start."

Their building was a fifteen minute walk from the restaurant. They took the elevator up to their floor because Sharon didn't think she was capable of climbing four flights. "Is Bucky waiting up to for you?" she asked as she unlocked her door.

Bucky and Sam had made an appearance early in the evening. Sam was a natural with the smiling and hand shaking, but Bucky found it even more stressful than Steve did. They'd disappeared before dessert and Steve had found a text from Sam telling him he'd taken Buck out for a steadying beer or three before taking him home. He assumed Nat would be over later to help unwind him further.

He leaned a shoulder on the wall beside her door. "No, I got a couple of drunk texts and he said he was taking a nap. So I am all yours." 

She glanced up at him, eyes unreadable. "All night?" she asked, opening her door.

He could almost hear his own heartbeat. They'd been taking this very slowly. "If you want."

Slowly, her mouth curled into a smile. "I want."

"Well, then." He grinned and leaned in to kiss her, holding her while he pushed her door open. He guided her inside, hands on her back and hip to keep her steady. Once inside, he kicked the door closed behind him, deepening the kiss. Sharon tossed her keys blindly towards the table she kept by the door. They fell with a series of clatters and he made a mental note to look for them later. Then her hands were in his hair, holding him to her and he didn't really give a shit about her keys.

He helped her out of her little jacket, then found the zipper at the back of her dress and pushed it down. There wasn't much to the dress, and he could get it entirely off without breaking the kiss—though she did make him pause so she could shove his jacket off his shoulders.

Leaving her to work the knot out of his tie, he slid his hands over her back, delighted to find she wasn't wearing a bra. Her skin was soft and silky, with lean muscle beneath. He knew she ran every day, sometimes with weights, and it definitely showed.

Now he did break the kiss, because he wanted to look at her. She was just yanking his tie down so he had a nice view of her in nothing but a little pair of lacy underwear. "God, are you gorgeous."

She fidgeted almost shyly before looking up at him. "Look who's talking."

He let her unbutton his shirt, watching her fingers march down. "Maybe we're a matched set."

"I like that." She peeled his shirt down his arms, then tugged up the bottom of his undershirt. He had to lift his arms so she could get it off. Then he tugged her close again, so her bare skin pressed to his. She stroked her hands down his back. "But you really are kind of perfect."

"Not a scar to be found." The bitter edge to his voice was unintentional, and not at all appropriate, but somehow it came out anyway.

She looked up at him, clearly surprised. He braced himself for the very mood ruining questions that were sure to come. Instead, she dropped a little kiss on his chest, nuzzling at the skin. "Just 'cause they can't be seen, doesn't mean they aren't there."

It was just. . . exactly the right thing to say. The thing he needed to hear. And he thought maybe it was all right to relax. To not feel guilty for one night. "Sometimes I wish people could see them." She had plenty of scars, and he touched on on her arm. "Then we'd really match." 

"Maybe I took all of yours," she said, smiling wryly. "That's what all those bumps and bruises I couldn't remember getting were."

She was giving him an opportunity to not make this a morose conversation about the war, and he was taking it. They could talk later. He bent to kiss her. "Maybe it's voodoo."

"Must be it." Cupping his face, she drew him down for another kiss. It started sweet and comforting, then grew deeper. She melted into him, moaning softly.

He slid his hands down her back, cupping her ass and holding her against him. It was an intimate, possessive move. "Bed?"

Gesturing vaguely to the other side of the living room, she whispered, "That way."

"Close enough." He picked her up and she squeaked, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her in that direction.

Fortunately, her apartment didn't have that many rooms, and only the one bedroom. He strode through, setting her down on the bed and following her down. She tugged at the fly of his slacks with an irritated noise. Clearly he was wearing too much clothes for her tastes. He laughed, distracting as the touch was. "Hang on, these are my nicest pants, don't rip them."

With another grumpy noise, she released him and he straightened, kicking off his shoes and undoing his pants. Sharon propped up on her elbows and watched him slide them down with unhidden appreciation. "Damn."

"I will take that compliment unreservedly," he informed her.

"It was intended as such," she replied. Shifting her weight, she lifted a hand to crook a finger at him. He bent to kiss her and she all but purred, hands roaming and mapping his skin. Like she wanted to touch everywhere at once. 

The touch was gentle but nearly overwhelming, and it took him a moment to think clearly enough to return it in kind. "I want you so much," he said, months worth of anticipation crashing in on him.

She mumbled something he didn't catch but sounded like agreement. Then her hand cupped him though the soft fabric of his boxers and all thought fled. She stroked him like that, fingers tracing the stark outline of his erection, before tucking her fingers into the waistband and stroking skin to skin. The "Please," he whispered was nearly involuntary. 

He wanted to touch her, too, his hand spreading over her breast, thumb rubbing her nipple. It tightened and she gasped a little fingers flexing around him. His mouth found hers, the kiss desperate and explicit. For a few moments they teased each other as they mumbled praise and pleas between increasingly rough kisses.

When she released him he damn near growled, but then she was arching her hips up and shoving her lace panties down her legs, leaving her naked. He managed to help her get them down without ripping them, which he was proud of. Then he slid his hand between her legs, finding her more wet than he expected. He stroked her slowly anyway, and her whole body vibrated.

"Yes," she breathed, in that same involuntary way he had. He kept up his slow, steady pressure, watching her, fascinated at the intense response. Her hand fumbled, clutching at his hip. Her hips started to lift a little, pressing into his fingers. He'd wanted just to wind her up, but watching this was erotic as hell.

He watched her skin flush and her body arch and flex. The muscles in her legs and stomach tightened and twitched and he felt answering flutters under his fingers. She'd grown slicker and hotter and he realized his strokes had grown more intense, focused on her clit.

"Please," she whimpered. "I'm so close, please."

He bent his head, kissing her mouth. The kiss was messy and distracted, then he moved his fingers a little faster and she broke. He swallowed her little cries, pressing his hand against her to feel her pulse and shake. It was quite possibly the sexiest thing he'd ever witnessed. 

As she calmed, he kissed her jaw, her cheek, her ear, gentle and light. He let her take her time.

When she'd caught her breath she bent a leg, curling it over his hip. "C'mere," she murmured, voice rough and throaty. "Come inside."

He tugged the leg higher and turned her on her side so they faced each other. She was so slick he slid right in, and it felt so good he had to close his eyes for a moment. Sharon moaned softly, winding her arms around him, so they were snug together. He rocked his hips, barely moving, but the friction was intense. He rested his forehead against her. "You feel so good."

She laughed a little, the sound thin and breathy. "So do you." She kissed him, stroking a hand down his back. "So good." Her hips shifted and he got deeper on his next thrust.

She shuddered, eyes widening. "God."

It was the kind of slow, intimate sex that had them both gasping without so much as shaking the bed. They just pushed and pulled and ground against each other, winding higher and higher, until he could feel the tension in her body.

"There, right there." He rocked into her, hard and rough, a few times. Then she gasped sharply and started to shake, body rippling and squeezing around him. It felt so good like this. He clutched at her, holding her close and maybe a little too tight. He couldn't take anymore, and gave in easily, letting her pull him with her.

They lay tangled, moving against each other to drag the last of their pleasure out. Then they just drifted, breathing in sync, touches gentle and tender. Sharon murmured his name at some point, nuzzling her head under his chin.

"Yeah," he whispered to her. "I think you're perfect."

She hummed in pleasure and patted his back. "So're you."

Right then, he actually believed her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter includes a mention of an attempted drugging and date-rape. The act is not described in detail and the rapist is stopped and punished well before anything happens.
> 
> There is also a description of war/bombing attack.

_July_

It wasn't, technically, a surprise party.

When Bucky had first started talking about throwing Steve a birthday party, Sharon had made it quite clear she wouldn't lie or keep it from him. He had conceded that Steve would, in fact, hate everyone jumping out to yell surprise. So they'd run it past him, he'd agreed - somewhat reluctantly - and planning had commenced.

July fourth was a Monday, which worked out nicely for Nat and Sharon's work schedule. Bucky decided he wanted to make meat over fire, so they'd let all the neighbors know they were claiming the roof and everyone was welcome to make an appearance. Bucky went up a couple days before to clean off the worst of the bird crap and he and Steve had hauled a couple of Weber grills up there.

What was a surprise was the guest list. Bucky had apparently decided that Steve getting a girlfriend was worthy of inviting all the guys from their unit to come meet her. Sharon found this rather intimidating, but was not, in fact, given a vote.

She didn't think many of them would actually show up. They were all out of town, some would have to fly. The RSVPs surprised the hell out of her. Bucky shrugged. "For Steve any of us would come a lot farther."

One of these days she was going to need to get her boyfriend very drunk and get the damn story out of him. For now she updated her food order and prepared to meet a French explosives expert.

The weather was just beautiful, hovering around 70 at midday, with the cool breezes promising a chilly evening. Bucky manned the grills and she and Nat ferried side dishes up from her kitchen. Sharon was so busy the first hour or so she missed Steve seeing some of his team arriving.

You could hear the laughter echoing down the stairs every time the door opened, and on her last trip up, Steve waved for her. "Sharon, come over here. These assholes want to meet you."

She set the artichoke dip on the table and went over, tucking loose hair back off her face. "You're introducing me to assholes?"

"Every last one," Bucky confirmed.

Steve gestured at the group standing with him. "This is Jones, Morita, Dernier, Monty, and Dum Dum. Guys, this is my Sharon."

"Really, dude?" The burly redhead that he'd identified as Dum Dum said.

"Hey," Jones said. "We told you that was never going away. You lost a bet, and that is that."

"I hate you all." He held out a hand to Sharon. "For the love of God, call me Tim."

Still riding high on apparently being _his_ Sharon, she grinned and shook his hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Tim. I'm looking forward to what I'm sure is a treasure trove of stories you all must have about these two."

"The grenade," Jones said immediately.

"No, the meatlocker," Monty replied. "That's funnier."

"What about the one with the scorpions?" That was Morita.

"What scorpions?" Jones asked.

"When he and Barnes were shooting them in their underwear? How do you not remember that?"

"No, I'd definitely remember that."

They'd all started talking over each other, and Steve rubbed his forehead. "See, assholes."

She flattened a palm on his chest and went on tiptoe to kiss him. "I promise, next time Maria and Mel are in town I will introduce you. You can get all my embarrassing college stories. One of them has an excel spreadsheet of ER trips."

"I am not even mildly surprised about that."

Apparently, the scorpion story won, so Morita launched into it. Steve wandered away after it was done and brought her a beer, but didn't stick around once they started the grenade story, ostensibly to go help Bucky with the grill.

"I've sort of already heard that one," she admitted. "Though it wasn't as colorfully told as yours."

Jones shook his head. "Only Steve Rogers would have the one time he threw himself on a grenade as mundane happening and random party story and not the thing that got him a Medal of Honor."

"Actually it was our first - He has the Medal of Honor?"

He guys exchanged looks. "He, uh, didn't mention that?"

"No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "He said he has medals but not which ones. It seems to make him really uncomfortable so I never pushed."

Another look exchanged. "That sounds like Steve," Tim said.

"It was news," Morita said, mostly to the rest of them. Then he looked at Sharon. "It's not a secret, it was all over the news. You've probably heard about it, you just don't remember names. You remember that thing where the Taliban took a Doctors Without Borders hospital hostage? Heroically rescued by a special forces team?" He pointed his thumbs at himself. "That was us."

Sharon stared at them a moment, one to the other, expecting one of them to break and tell her they were kidding. "That was _you_? That was _Steve_?"

"The news really sanitized it. It was a real shit show. They ambushed us, everybody got a little blown up—my knees, Dernier's hearing, Barnes lost an arm. And there's Cap, like an invisible bulletproof halo around him, hauling people to safety."

"Took off his fuckin' body armor," Tim added.

"I'd forgotten about that part."

She put a hand to her mouth, resisting the urge to look around for Steve. She thought about the bitterness - almost anger - when he'd mentioned his lack of scars. He'd saved all these lives and managed to feel guilty for not getting hurt himself in the process. "Thank you for telling me," was all she could think to say.

"We'd all be dead if it wasn't for him," Jones said. "All of us. Maybe they'd have let the doctors and patients go—for all the propaganda and bullshit, they're still human. But they'd have killed us."

"Which is why we dragged our arses halfway around the world for his birthday," Monty added, lifting his beer bottle for the others to click theirs to.

"We're glad he's got a girl, too," Tim assured her after they'd all had a drink. "Cap gets lost in his head, even before the incident. Never lets himself unwind."

"I had noticed that." This seemed like slightly safe territory. 

"We were hoping if he got laid regularly, that would help," Morita said, earning him several shoulder punches. "What?"

"I am seeing to his needs admirably," Sharon assured him. She didn't blush or anything. Her sex life the last month had been more active than it had in years. Once the damn burst Steve was pretty insatiable. Getting surprised in the shower or at the dinner table was becoming a regular occurrence.

"Good," Tim said. "You take care of him, and we're all right."

"I will take excellent care of him," she promised.

Steve wandered back over. "I heard that. Are they threatening you?"

She reached out and wove their fingers together when he reached her. "As any good friends should. I'm sure Nat has waved a chef's knife at you by now."

"I am _terrified_ of Nat," he said honestly.

"Because you are a very smart man."

"Bucky claims she went to jail for beating a guy up in college," Morita said, grinning like he thought it was a joke.

Sharon smirked. "Not by herself."

Steve looked down at her. "Well, this is story I clearly need to hear."

The rest of them all swiveled as well. "Senior year of college we rented a house with our friends Maria and Melinda. We had a house party, invited mostly people we knew, but a few friends-of-friends showed up, including a creepy guy who was trying to chat up a freshman Nat had invited. Knew her from work or something. Anyway, party is winding down and we realize we haven't seen the freshman or the creep in a while and go on a hunt. Find them in a bedroom. She's all but unconscious and he's trying to get her pants off."

Sharon sipped her drink. "This is the point I should mention that one of the things Nat and I bonded over when we first met was martial arts training. My parents sent me thinking it would help the clumsy. She took it at a community center in one of those 'keep kids off the street' programs. We're both out of practice now but at the time we had about seven belts between us. We jump the guy, haul him off her, and show him our displeasure while Maria calls 911 and Mel tries to get the girl to vomit up whatever he slipped her.

"Ambulance shows up first, takes the girl and Mel to the hospital. So when the cops show up we have a bloody unconscious guy, a house full of college kids in various stages of drunk, and me and Nat, wound up on adrenaline and covered in unconscious guy's blood."

"Yeah. I can see how the cuffs came out there."

"Who sprung you?" Jones asked.

"Mel's mom is a state senator. She came down and read the cops the riot act. By then an officer had gone to the hospital and confirmed the girl had been drugged and the creep had GHB in a baggie in his pocket. So they let us go. He woke up the next morning to be put under arrest and I had to delay coming home in the summer to be a witness at his trial."

Steve rubbed her back. "Good for you."

"You're two peas in a pod is what you are," Monty said.

She leaned into Steve's side. "God help any muggers who cross our path."

"Burgers are up if you want some," he told her, and the general group.

There was a brief rush at the food table. She found herself perched on Steve's lap on one of the patio chairs they'd brought up. "Happy Birthday," she said once they both had some burger in them.

"This is honestly the best birthday I've had in years."

"I'm very glad to hear that." She kissed his cheek and he cuddled her closer as they ate.

*

After burgers Sharon produced a cake Nat had baked and she had carefully stacked with 39 candles. People sang drunkenly, and he blew them out. He kissed her and she tasted like frosting.

The party began breaking as the sun dipped down and the air got colder. Sam looked at his watch and announced the SF fireworks started in half an hour, which was enough to clear the roof in short order. Manners dictated he offer to have some of the guys hang out. But they were all more interested in getting to their hotels and battening down. He'd catch up with most of them again before they left the area.

Bucky had claimed their apartment, because of course he had, so Steve went across the hall to Sharon's after helping haul down most of the chairs and tables. Her living room was now cluttered with folding chairs and tables and her kitchen sink was overflowing.

She, however, was no where to be found. "Share?"

"In here," came her voice from the bedroom.

He found her balancing on a chair, pinning a heavy blanket over her window. "Hi," she said. "Almost done."

"You didn't have to do that," he said quietly, though he was touched that she did.

With a little grunt, she got the last tack in and hopped down. "I've been doing a lot of reading on vets and PTSD since we started working on the non-profit. I know fireworks are stressful."

He sat on the end of the bed. "The whistle of them shooting up sounds just like an RPG."

She sat next to him, taking his hand. "You had a good day, I didn't want it to get ruined at the end. I figured we could huddle in here, turn up the stereo and fans. Drown out the outside world."

He lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. "Do we need to be dressed while huddling?"

"I think naked huddling is far more effective."

Sex, as amazing and distracting as it was, didn't last forever. Afterwards they ended up tangled in the dark, isolated in a wall of white noise. "Today was really wonderful," he told her.

Sharon pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "It was nice meeting your guys. They were a lot of fun."

"Despite the profoundly embarrassing stories they told you about me?"

"Especially because of that. I like stories about you. You're remarkably closed lipped."

"Well, I'm not going to _volunteer_ embarrassing stories."

"They weren't all embarrassing," she said quietly.

That didn't surprise him at all. From her tone, he knew what story they'd told, too. "The hospital?"

She nodded. "You could have told me the long version."

He sighed. It was a part of him. It shaped how he behaved and made decisions. It was the hinge point on which his life had turned. She deserved to hear about it from him. He just hated talking about it. "I didn't do anything anybody wouldn't have done."

"I don't think that's true. Maybe most of us like to think we would, but in the heat of the moment. . ." She stroked a hand across his chest. "The guys seemed to think it was pretty impressive, and they were there."

"They would have if they hadn't been hit. I was the only one who could. I got a medal for being the one who _didn't_ get shot. How fucked up is that?"

"You got a medal for saving everyone's lives. I don't think they'd have not given it to you if you'd been hurt." One of her hands started rubbing his neck. "Why do you carry around guilt for something good?"

"A lot of men died. Hostages died. People who survived had life altering injuries—you may have noticed Bucky's arm. And it happened. . .around me. I was completely unscathed."

"Only physically. That's a fluke. A trick of luck and angles. But you saved lives. You made a positive impact on the situation. And you suffered, just in a different way."

He felt an uncomfortable lump in his throat. "It isn't the same."

She was now stroking his hair, grounding him with the touch. "Different doesn't mean less. Or better or worse. It's just different." After a moment of silence, she added, "Those guys love you. They came hundreds of miles, from all over the world, just to come see you for your birthday. I'd say they consider you part of the club. Scars or no scars."

He held onto her, tighter than he probably should. But she was. . .safety. And she only smelled even more like home. "I've never talked about it. I filed a report—which is very clinical—and that was it. Everything else, it all came from them." 

"We don't have to talk about it," she promised him. "I don't ever want to make you uncomfortable. But you shouldn't be ashamed of it."

He took a breath. "It's on the internet. You should hear about it from me."

"I have resisted Googling. Because I am a good and honest person."

When she didn't continue, he prompted, "But?"

"But I'd really like to know," she finished in a rush.

"Well, I should first tell you that when we call it a hospital, you're probably picturing a large building full of beds and staff. It wasn't like that. MSF sets up pretty much wherever they can find space. It was more like a field hospital. I couldn't tell you what the building had been before, but it was already half bombed out when they set up. They put up big tents with giant medical signs. You don't fuck with the doctors. And they were treating Afghan civilians to boot."

"Were you guarding them? Or in the area or specifically sent to deal with the issue?"

"We were sent after they were taken hostage." He told her about how the op had been planned, and how it went horribly sideways. About carrying and dragging people across the street to a building where they had thick stone walls and good cover. About the hospital catching fire and evacuating the doctors and patients in the middle of a storm of bullets. "Like a soap opera or some tropey action movie, there was a woman in labor at this hospital. She was there for a wound, but the shock had gotten the show on the road, so to speak. I couldn't figure out how to adequately cover her with myself. So I put my vest on her." 

"Is there a little Afghan boy named Steve now?" she asked him, voice gentle and calming.

"It was a girl, actually." He chuckled a little, and shook his head. "It was such a surreal scene. Bucky was sitting beneath a window, rifle on the sill, picking the enemy off and casually holding out his mangled left arm for one of the doctors to try and tape together. Jones is shouting what sounds like four languages of curses into the radio trying to get us some air support. Men are screaming and bleeding and dying. And then behind us you hear this baby cry. Right there in the middle of hell." 

"I think it's kind of beautiful," Sharon said. "Life in the middle of death. No matter how bad it gets there's hope."

He sighed. "Though now I sometimes get flashbacks when I hear babies cry."

“Oh, Steve." She squeezed him tightly. "I'm so sorry."

He told her about the rescue, about the medal and everything that followed. It felt cathartic to actually tell the whole story, end to end. To let out thoughts that had been festering in his head for so long.

When he was done it was close to midnight. Sharon kissed him and climbed out of bed, then returned a moment later with a couple of pints of ice cream and some spoons. "That deserves ice cream in bed," she told him seriously.

"Thank you," he replied, equally seriously, about so much more than the snack.

Resettling on the bed next to him, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'll listen to all your stories."


	8. Chapter 8

_August_

Every summer, reliably, even San Francisco coughed up a couple of days that made its residents long for air conditioning. Of course, people in other places didn't necessarily consider 85 to be unbearable heat, but Sharon had been born and raised in the city. It was _hot_.

It was also, apparently, a great day for an earthquake.

Mercifully, she wasn't in the elevator. That was a recipe for getting stuck all afternoon. She was, however, in Steve and Bucky's apartment, and got to watch two New Yorkers experience their first earthquake.

The both got in the doorway, which was adorable, considering it mostly rattled the picture frames. She didn't get off the couch, glancing up at the ceiling until it stopped shaking. "Couldn't have been more than 5." The boys were still in the doorway and she waved at them. "It's okay."

"We've been in combat," Bucky said defensively as Steve just came back to the couch.

Sharon's phone started to ring.

"I'm guessing the doorways didn't help out a lot then either," she said, answering the phone without looking at it. "Whoever you are I'm fine."

"I'm sure you are," Nat said. "But the kitchen's a mess."

"Ah shit. You okay? No burns or cuts?"

"I'm fine. And no fires. But we're going to have to close tonight. Even if we could get the kitchen clean, Morales panicked and yanked the emergency gas shut off."

"Oh for fuck's-" She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "I'll come down and help you clean up and put some closed signs up."

"Bring the boys," she instructed.

"That bad, huh? Or are you hoping to pin Bucky in the walk in?" His brows went up.

"That's gross, there's raw meat in there." There was a beat of silence. "No. Don't even say it. I'm hanging up."

"See you soon," Sharon sing-songed before she disconnected. Shoving her phone back in her pocket, she stood. "Nat needs help at the restaurant and you've both been drafted."

"Is she okay?" Bucky asked.

"And does she want to do him in the freezer?" Steve added, apparently unable to resist.

"She's fine and probably, but she won't admit it."

"Mock me," Steve said when they got out into the hall. "But I'm taking the stairs."

Sharon was already headed that way. "So am I. Aftershocks are a thing and I'm pretty sure that's a death trap on its best days."

"Aren't aftershocks less than the original?" Bucky asked.

"You are welcome to get in it," Steve offered.

He muttered something under his breath but followed them down the stairs and into the heat. The sidewalks were pretty empty, it being mid day and hot out and the walk to the restaurant went fast.

"At least there'll be all the cold drinks we want," Sharon offered as they trudged down Market.

"The restaurant has air conditioning," Bucky said. "Nat blames it for her shifts."

"Clearly we should just hang out there in this kind of weather."

The air was off when they got there, as apparently the neighborhood power was down. They had a generator, but all of its output was being used by the fridge and freezer. This resulted in the two men cleaning up the restaurant shirtless. It was not the worst way to spend a hot afternoon.

"We could open and sell tickets to the show," Sharon commented to Nat as they stopped for water.

"I think you need a particular kind of license for that kind of business." She slugged back her water. "I'm taking some discreet video for later perusal, though."

"Oh, good idea."

The boys seemed to decide they needed a break, and came over. "So, we have an idea."

Sharon held a bottle of water out for Steve. "If it involves the word foursome I'm going to need something stronger."

"Dammit, beat me to it," Nat muttered.

He laughed. "No. I was thinking, since we have power at home, back up whatever perishables won't last night—I think Nat said she had fish?—and have a barbecue on the roof. Invite the neighbors."

"You know people cooking in the street is what started the 1906 earthquake fire," Nat said.

"We'll bring up a fire extinguisher."

"I think it's a great idea," Sharon told him, kissing his cheek. "We'll have to throw all of it out anyway, at least this way it gets used."

The Earthquake Building Party was a smashing success. Though Ms. Bell did bring a tray of actual pot brownies so people _were_ in particularly good spirits. They grilled Lucky 13's salmon and Sharon and Nat enjoyed their first mutual Friday night off in years. The lack of an entire weekend night's take was going to sting a bit, something she decided she'd think about in the morning. The restaurant was doing very well this year, she shouldn't stress.

The party lasted well past dark, with most of the food eaten. Sharon's kitchen sink was once again a mess, but Steve had had two brownies and appeared to be a rather amorous stoner, so she was not given the option to clean them up.

They ended up sideways on her bed, window open to let in the slight breeze. Her brain was trying to wander back to her bookkeeping and she was debating if it was just easier to do the math now so she could sleep when Steve cupped her breast, distracting her.

"How did you know I was thinking again?" she murmured.

"You have a look on your face." He bent down to kiss her. "I really thought I'd fucked the thinking out of you for the night, but apparently not."

For a moment she let herself get lost in the kissing. "It's hard to turn my head off."

"You want to talk about it?"

She shrugged, stroking her fingers through his hair. "Worrying about money. We lost a lot of income today. We're not living hand to mouth any more, but I might need to fudge my paycheck this month."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "If you need any help—"

"It's all right. Really. It's just one night and I'm probably overthinking it. But we'll have to rebuy all the lost produce and stuff." She ruffled his hair. "I'll figure it out. I usually do."

"You don't have to figure it out alone," he said quietly.

Her stomach fluttered with something like nerves but more pleasant. "I'm just. . . used to it, is all."

"I know. But company can be nice when dealing with shitty things. Even if it's just someone to hold your hand."

"I do like when you hold my hand."

"Though if you're going to be crunching numbers it might be more useful if I held your. . . ankle, or something. So you can type."

She giggled at the mental image and kissed him. "I love you."

 As soon as it was out of her mouth she froze. Goddamned pot brownies. But then he grinned as wide as she'd ever seem. "I love you, too."

Relief flooded her and she grinned back. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Since you tacked up blankets on the fourth of July. At least."

Drawing him close, she kissed him again. "I'm gonna say it a lot. I like the sound."

He pulled her on top of him, sliding his hands down her body. "Every day."

"And twice on Sundays." He cupped a hand over her ass. "Are you going to fuck the last of the thinking out of me?"

"Yes," he replied immediately. "And twice on Sunday."


	9. Chapter 9

_September_

The thumping had started again.

It seemed like it had only just ended, allowing Steve to fall asleep. Now it was starting again.

He rolled to look at the bedside clock to find it was four oh seven in the morning. Sharon had had dinner with her family so he'd slept at his place. He was now regretting this decision to the bottom of his very soul.

Tugging on a shirt and shoving his feet into slippers he left the apartment, walked across the hall, and knocked on Sharon's door. There was a distant crash, then a series of thumps, then she pulled the door open, in very skimpy pjs, rubbing her shin. "What's wrong?"

"They've been fucking all night. All. Night."

She sighed and limped backwards. "Come in. Welcome to being Nat's roommate."

Nat was crashing at their place, temporarily, while her earthquake-damaged apartment building was being repaired. It was taking forever. "I think they're rebuilding with legos, one at a time."

"She said the last thing she heard there was foundation issues and the landlord was muttering about selling the whole thing."

"Sorry for waking you up," he said.

"It's all right." She said it kind of automatically, but he chose to believe her.  
 She flopped on her couch and peered at the red mark on her leg that was almost certainly going to be a bruise in the morning. "You're always welcome to sleep here."

"I may be taking you up on that. Let me get you some ice."

"Thanks."

When he got back she was leaning back with her eyes closed, so he just sat next to her and gathered her legs up on his lap, holding the ice pack to her leg. "Nat was always like this," Sharon said, not opening her eyes. "Though there used to be more variety in men."

"Relationships weren't her thing?"

"Not really. We used to call her the Black Widow she went through so many men."

"I don't need to worry about my best friend ending up dead, do I? 'Cause I gotta tell you, there's no money there to steal."

"Nah. She really likes him. He's mellowed her out a lot." She yawned widely. "It's gonna bruise no matter what. You want to head to bed?"

"I will carry you so you don't bust the other shin," he said, scooping her up.

She cuddled into him. "This is almost worth being woken up for."

"Have I told you I love you today?" He asked as she set her down and climbed in beside her.

"Mmm, it's after midnight so no, not today."

He tucked them in and pulled her over. "Well, I do. And it's nicer over here."

She yawned again and curled up at his side. "You could stay here."

He kissed the top of her head. "I will."

In the morning he woke up before her so he could go for his jog. She grumbled when he got up but had resettled before he reached the door.

Back in his apartment, Bucky was in the kitchen making coffee. He frowned a little when he saw Steve come in. "Hey. I thought she was busy last night."

"She was. You sexed me out of the apartment."

To his credit he looked a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry about that."

"Not for nothing, but at a certain point. . .doesn't your dick get sore? I mean there's got to be some kind of chafing."

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but there's a lot of sex you can have without using your dick. Also, lube is a thing."

"I have plenty of types of sex. Those don't usually involve slamming a headboard into the wall."

"Yeah, Nat can get a little. . . acrobatic." He rubbed the back of his neck. "This is probably a bad time to ask this but. . . can she move in? Permanently?"

Steve stared at him. "Permanently?"

"Yeah. Her landlord says the building isn't worth fixing so he's selling it to developers. She's been trying to find somewhere else but she can't afford anything less than three bus rides from the restaurant."

"Are you guys. . .there yet?"

Bucky studied the coffee maker a moment. "I - yeah, I think we are. I know it's fast. And we started up as just a hook up but. . . she means the world to me. Settles a lot of dark places. I do the same with her." He glanced at Steve. "She makes me happy."

Steve knew, somehow, exactly what he meant. "Good. I'm happy for you. Then yes. Please just try to keep it down, eh?"

Face splitting into a grin, Bucky nodded. "Of course. Sure. I'll tell her." He reached out and clapped a hand on Steve's arm. "Thank you."

"Anytime," he replied.

This was going to be. . . an adjustment.

Over the next few weeks more of Nat's stuff crept into the apartment. He knew she sold off a lot of furniture, and gave a few pieces to Sharon. But their living room had acquired a new arm chair and the kitchen table suddenly had linens. Their knives disappeared, replaced by new, fancy ones he was sort of afraid to touch.

He distracted himself from the growing chaos in his home by focusing on the non-profit. The initial fundraiser at Lucky 13 had gotten him some seed money. Now Sharon was helping him work up a budget and business plan to shop around some charitable trusts.

Between that and the outreach work they'd started on a small scale, it kept him pretty busy. It was strange to have a full-time job again, but he enjoyed being occupied. Feeling useful.

"I got a call from the VA," Sharon told him one evening as she was going over spread sheets. "They wanted to know if we had any cards or fliers to pass out. I told them we weren't established enough for that kind of traffic, but clearly the word is out."

"I suppose we need that sort of stuff, don't we?"

"Yeah. And if we get it we're going to need more people. You can't do everything on your own. And you might want to look into office space. Which would mean some more fundraising."

"Maybe I need to find a rich patron. Like an artist of yore."

She paused. Long enough he looked over at her. "What?"

"I _could_ introduce you to some of my aunts old friends."

"I take it you're not referring to some sort of knitting circle of old ladies."

"Think more crotchety WWII vets with boobs."

"I can see how that sort of person might be interested in what we're doing."

"Not all of them are vets. There's one that was an actress and a couple who would have been kids in the war but got roped into the circle somehow. They're all wealthy to one degree or another and would probably love an afternoon tea of drooling over you."

He felt himself blush. "Can I still wear a shirt?"

"Let's put you in a suit, they'll like that." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I'll talk to Angie, she'll make them behave. But I think it'd be a good start for you."

"It's a good idea," he said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. And I'll come with you. Protect your virtue."

"Protect you territory."

Setting aside her laptop, she scooted closer. "Damn right." 

The meeting was still a little like a knitting circle full of old ladies, but they were hilarious old ladies, full of stories, and very interested in his work. It was held at the very elegant Nob Hill home of Angie Martinelli, an old forties and fifties actress that Steve recognized and was a little awed by. Sharon called her Auntie A and seemed to have heard most of their stories.

Several of the ladies slipped him checks on their way out. One told him her lawyer would be in touch. When it was just him and Sharon and Angie she squinted at him. "Sharon says you need office space."

"That's definitely on the list," he replied. "But it's San Francisco, so we're competing with tech companies and their budgets."

"I have some unused real estate I could probably donate to the cause. English left it to me in her will and I never got around to selling it. The woman collected real estate like a magpie."

He stared at her. "You want to donate real estate?"

"Well it'll be a hell of a tax write off won't it?" She waved a hand. "I'll talk to my lawyer, see if it's better to donate it or just let you rent it for a pittance. Either way, don't worry about office space."

"I. . . thank you. Thank you so much."

"It's a worthy cause. The VA doesn't do enough. And she'd very much approve, I think. She'd been shot, stabbed, and impaled in the service of various wars. Nightmares all the way to the end, too."

Sharon made a little sympathetic noise and she and Angie reached for each other's hands. "She'd be very proud of you," Angie said. "And all you've done with what she gave you."

"Thanks, Auntie A."

They took a cab back home. "That was a brilliant idea."

"Yeah, that went really well." She curled her hand around his. "I'm glad she liked you."

He looked over at her. "Was that a camouflaged 'meet the family'?"

"It was a baby step meet the family. You still have my parents and brother to deal with. But Angie is important, too."

Steve cleared his throat. "Were she and your aunt. . ."

"Yep!" she said brightly. "For over sixty years. Aunt Peggy kept her own apartment and a house for appearance's sake. But they lived together in the Nob Hill house pretty blatantly."

"How very San Francisco," he said with a smile.

"They were. And very in love. They were a cute couple."

"Thank you for taking me. And not just because of the fundraising."

She smiled sweetly and leaned over to kiss him. "I love you."


	10. Chapter 10

_October_

Sharon's bathroom cabinet now officially contained more of Steve's stuff than hers. She had a lot of things on the counter, granted, but there had clearly been a serious migration of stuff. And not just the bathroom. He slept there pretty much every night, since the sex in his apartment had not quieted down even a little.

One Sunday morning she came out of the shower in her robe to find him cooking her breakfast on his waffle maker in her kitchen. "So, I'm not complaining, but I've noticed your stuff now takes up more of the bathroom cabinet then mine does, there are definitely some scratchy boy-towels I never purchased in the linen closet and that isn't my waffle maker. Because I do not own a waffle maker."

"I'm not allowed to have or touch anything in the kitchen," he said in explanation of the waffle maker. "I mean, in return she feeds us. But sometimes I like cooking."

"She is very territorial of the kitchen," Sharon conceded. "And her porcelain knives are scary."

"Am I crowding you?" he asked.

"No, I love having you here." She finished her hair and draped the towel on the back of her chair. "I'm sorry they're crowding you out."

"It's okay. I like being here."

He set a plate of waffles in front of her and she grinned. "Well, if this is going to be a regular thing I think I'm getting the better end of it."

"I am happy to continue to make you breakfast." He leaned down to kiss her.

They ate breakfast and dressed. "I have a meeting with someone who wants to throw a rehearsal dinner at the restaurant," she told him as she got ready to go. "So I probably won't see you till after dinner." Steve was already wading through his spreadsheets so she kissed the top of his head and went out.

Like so many bumps and falls in her life, she wasn't entirely sure what happened. One moment she was running down the stairs the way she did every morning. The next her foot missed a step and she was falling down the rest of the flight, coming to a painful stop on the landing.

Upstairs the door opened, and Steve came out. He came down the stairs two at a time— _he_ was a master of grace. "You okay?"

She shifted onto her butt and pain shot up her right leg. "No," she replied, just managing to keep it from sounding like a wail.

"Let me see," he said, and carefully felt along her shin. He reached a spot just above her ankle and she shrieked a little, swatting at him.

"I think that might be broken," he said gently. "We should probably go to the ER."

She nodded, sniffling a little. "Okay. Can you go tell Nat to meet with the clients?"

He picked her up gently. It was very useful how strong he was. "Yes. We'll put some ice on it and I'll call a cab."

The ice hurt but she grit her teeth and stayed still. Steve went across the hall to tell Nat what was up. She came over to get the details for the client and shake her head at Sharon’s now purple and swelling leg. Then the cab arrived and Steve carried her out.

Mid morning on a Thursday was apparently not a particularly crowded time at the ER. They only waited about twenty minutes for a doctor to see her. Then another forty to get to X-ray. Then another half hour to find out that yes, it was in fact broken. Sharon got a cast, some pain killers and several pages of instructions that Steve promptly took because the pain killer they'd given her had kicked in and she was no longer listening.

At some point they discharged her. Back into a cab, back up the stairs, Steve carrying her the entire way. Being able to depend on him completely—for handling the doctors, for physical care, so she had nothing to pay attention to was so, so nice. He took care of her.

He settled her in bed, set a timer for her next pain med dose and went to call Nat and update her. Sharon drifted, waking when he came to feed her and give her more meds. And that's pretty much how the first few days went. Lots of napping. Steve was always there when she woke, ready to get anything she needed. She hadn't had anyone to take care of her since she lived at home with her mom.

Her mother made an appearance the second or third day, which was how she and Steve met for the first time. Sharon was too drugged up to stress about it. Last she heard they were commiserating over her klutzyness.

It was from her mother, who seemed to be taking the evening shift looking after her, she learned that Steve was taking shifts at Lucky 13, handling her hostess duties. He certainly was charming and knew how to herd people.

"So have you found a new career in hospitality?" she asked him. It was almost two weeks since her fall and he had moved her out to the couch since she was sick of the bedroom. She'd eased back on her pain killers, taking mostly over-the-counter stuff. She was even able to do some bookkeeping, which helped make her feel normal.

"I've been surprisingly good at it. Bucky's taken a shift or two, but he scowls too much, so we found him something else to do. Sam helps with Sunday brunch."

"I'm especially amused you've roped others into this."

"Apparently it takes many to fill your shoes."

That made her smile. "I can't ever thank you enough for taking care of me."

"I love you," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course I take care of you."

She supposed if their situations were reversed she'd have taken care of him no questions asked. Wouldn't have been as useful carrying him around, though. "It's just nice. It's been a long time since I had someone like that. My parents are around, of course. But it's not the same when you're an adult."

"Consider it fair trade for me practically living here and not paying you rent."

"You have kind of abandoned your place to the love birds, huh?"

"Bucky asked me the other day if I'd consider swapping rooms. I have the master and it's bigger."

He _did_ spend all his nights here. "Did you agree?"

Steve sighed. "Of course I did. There are two of them and you can fit a king in my room."

She reached out to touch him, but he was too far away so she flapped her hand until he obediently scooted closer. "You're a good friend."

"I want him to be happy. Plus I haven't slept there yet this month."

Mostly because of his nursemaid duties. Though he hadn't been going back there much before it, either. "Do you. . . Should we maybe talk about making that a permanent arrangement?"

He looked up at her. "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

She fidgeted the blanket he'd draped over her lap. Her insides got kind of soft and squishy thinking about how sweetly he took care of her. "I think I am, yeah. I like having you as part of my daily life. We fit together very well."

"I like being here better than I like being over there," he said after a moment. "I've started to think of this—and, well, you—as home."

"That sounds like you moving in."

"Well. Let me make sure the two of them are okay with the rent over there. But otherwise, yes." He paused. "Have you had painkillers today?"

After thinking back a moment, she shook her head. "No, I have not."

"Just making sure this wasn't at all opiate induced."

She laughed. "No. It's not the first time I thought of it. Just the first time I said it."

He leaned over to kiss her. "I would love to officially wake up beside you every day."

"Good. Me, too. Though we're probably gonna need some more shelves for the bathroom."

"I'm handy," he said. "I can build shelves." He paused. "Well, Bucky can build shelves. I can help."

"It's really the least he can do. Driving you from your home."

"I can help you do your PT when you get out of this cast," he told her. "I've been told I'm good at motivating people to do things."

She hoped that didn't mean she wasn't going to be living with a drill sergeant in a couple weeks. Maybe he meant motivation through kissing. "Good, 'cause I need to be at least somewhat mobile by Thanksgiving."

"Face the family on your own two feet?"

Oh right, she'd been meaning to bring this up. "Actually, Nat and I were thinking of doing something different for Thanksgiving this year."

"Go somewhere and lay on a beach?"

"If only." She reached out to rub his arm. "We were thinking we'd open the restaurant up to homeless vets. Give them a good meal. Maybe a care package with some dry goods and warm socks or something. Auntie A's sewing circle is already working on donations."

He blinked, and then he grinned at her. "That's. . .that would be really nice. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I also think we should get moving on getting flyers and stuff for your organization. We can put them in the care packages, get word out."

"That is a good idea. We can absolutely cover some of the costs, too."

Sharon had been a little worried she might have been overstepping her bounds. But he looked genuinely excited at the idea. "Great. I will get going on that. Give my brain something to do."

"I think it will be a very fun way to spend Thanksgiving."


	11. Chapter 11

_November_

It was an exhausting way to spend Thanksgiving. 

They opened the restaurant up at four pm and the last diners left just after nine. Steve was pretty sure none of them sat down for those five hours. A couple of Nat's sous chefs had offered to come help prep and stayed for the first couple hours before heading to their own dinners. There were two waitresses who came to help who didn't have any family in state and liked the idea of helping out. Without them, Steve really wasn't sure they'd have made it.

Sharon had upgraded to a walking boot and brace and was able to be a hostess and expedite in the kitchen. He, Sam and Bucky rotated between busboy duties, running food and helping in the kitchen. Once tables had started to turn over he and Sharon made sure everyone got a care package and a flier for his organization.

Now the waitresses had gone home, with bags full of left overs, and the five of them were sprawled around the dining room eating turkey and stuffing and the best mashed potatoes Steve had ever had. Sharon had her leg propped up on his lap and was running numbers in between bites.

"Two hundred and seven," she announced.

"Two hundred seven what?" he asked.

"People fed. Based on my notes anyway." She looked over at Nat. "That's a completely turned restaurant every hour and a half. Wish we did that on a normal night."

He rubbed her toes. "It was a really awesome thing you did," he said.

" _We_ did," she corrected with a smile, wiggling her toes.

"We have earned pie," Bucky said with a hopeful look at Nat.

"Yes, dear, we've earned pie." She scooped up one last bite of turkey and hauled herself up.

"I love you!" he called after her, then turned to grin at Steve and Sharon.

"She spoils you," Sharon told him.

"Yeah, I have no idea how I got that lucky," he replied.

Steve looked over at her. "Yeah, me neither."

Sharon blushed a little and wiggled her toes again. "It's mutual."

"After pie," he said. "How about I get you a cab, help Nat clean up, and then I'll be home after. You really should get this up and ice it."

Her mouth turned down into something resembling a pout, but she sighed. "I know. I'm gonna hurt tomorrow. It was worth it, though. This was a good night."

"It was a really good night. It might be the best Thanksgiving I've had in years."

"We can make it a tradition," she said as Nat came out with a tray of pie. There was both pumpkin and pecan and Sharon took a piece of each. They ate in companionable silence, then he helped Sharon hobble out to her cab and went back to help the others clean up.

She took the death-trap elevator up to their apartment, and got herself comfortable on the couch. Steve's easel was set up by the window, and she studied the painting on it. It was one of the rocky California coast, an image from a photograph she'd taken. It was a perfect blend of the two of them and their talents.

They made a good team. Tonight was a good example. He was determined and quick on his feet and she was a planner. Between them they'd handled every problem that had come up. And in the end it had all gone smooth. Even him moving in had gone well. He still kept some stuff across the hall - mostly off season clothes and some bigger pieces of furniture - but for the most part they'd tucked each other into their lives perfectly.

She fell asleep before he got home and woke up being carried to bed. "Hi," she mumbled, cuddling closer.

"Hi, baby," he said. "Happy Thanksgiving."

He set her down on the bed and curled up next to her. "Happy Thanksgiving," she replied, drifting back to sleep.

When she woke in the morning, Steve was still out cold. He'd kicked half the blankets off, so she got a very delightful view of his bare chest. They hadn't had much sex since the injury—the pain, the cast, the medication doing a number on her libido. But right now he really looked very. . .delicious.

She taken her brace and boot off before settling on the couch so she was somewhat mobile. Rolling closer to him, she kissed his chest, stroking a hand down his stomach and under the covers. She felt him stir and make a sound, but he didn't wake. He had boxers on, which were doing nothing to hide his growing erection. Tugging the waist band down a little, she stroked the flat of her hand along his length.

That earned her a groan, but not enough to wake him up. She trailed a line of kisses down his body, enjoying the feel of his skin and the firm muscle beneath.

When she reached the sheets she pulled them down, ducking her head to take the head of his cock in her mouth. After a moment his hips lifted up to her a little, and she felt his hand in her hair. She'd finally woken him, and he was clearly not objecting. Humming in greeting, she moved on him, changing pace and depth based on the way his hips moved and how tight his hand gripped at her.

She felt him getting close and lifted her head enough to kiss his hip. "Morning."

"Fuck," he gasped in reply. "Come up here."

She crawled up him, carefully putting her weight on her knee. When she reached his mouth she kissed him and his hands wrapped around her hips, shifting her so he could thrust into her. It was on the edge of too rough and she gasped into his mouth, rocking on him. "Are you—are you okay?" he stuttered.

Bracing her hands on either side of his head, she resettled. "I just have to be careful where I put my weight," she murmured.

"Good. 'Cause I really don't want to stop."

Grinning, she started to rock on him in earnest, in long strokes. "Me neither." He tipped his head back, tendons straining in his throat. She kissed one and got lost in her motions, heat building up inside her. His hands on her hips started to tug her a little faster and she went with it, pleasure growing and cresting inside her. She lost her rhythm as she came, gasping his name. He made a quiet, desperate sound as he surged up, following right behind her.

His arms came around her and she melted on top of him, nuzzling her face into his shoulder. This was an excellent way to wake up.

"You are the thing I am most thankful for," he told her.

"You too," she said honestly. "I'm so glad we met."

"I wish I'd asked you for your number that first day. You were all covered in mud and so adorable, I was kind of speechless."

She laughed. "You were speechless? I was afraid I'd come across as an idiot, I couldn't string three words together."

"Clearly we're perfect for each other."

Stretching up, she kissed him tenderly. "Clearly."

He rubbed her back and sighed contentedly. "I love you."

"I love you, too. More than I can say."


	12. Chapter 12

_December_

Bucky had needed to go Christmas shopping, and convinced Steve to come along. He wanted to buy Nat a necklace, something he insisted needed to be bought in person, and required a second opinion due to the expense.

Steve made Bucky buy him a burger and a beer first.

"I can't believe you're taking her home. Your family is a madhouse."

Bucky shrugged. "She wanted to. And I want them to meet her. If she survives, then I know she's worthy."

Steve laughed. "Harsh."

"She's a big believer in trial by fire." He shrugged again. "Besides, she doesn't really have much family. She wants to borrow mine."

"That's adorable. You guys are adorable."

"Never thought I'd be adorable, but here were are." He waved a french fry at him. "And you don't get to throw stones. You and Sharon are pretty nauseating yourselves."

"Yeah, but you proclaim me to be frequently nauseating in general, so the needle hasn't moved much."

"Nat does swing my metrics pretty far." Smiling, he popped his fry in his mouth. "Love makes fools of us all."

"I don't disagree," he replied. He drained the last of his beer. "Finish your fries, lets go find your sparkly necklace."

"It's going to be super sparkly, too."

Bucky rejected the first jewelry store as being "too commercial" so they had to wander a bit before finding a smaller one with a more mom-and-pop vibe. There, Bucky wandered the perimeter, peering into the cases with a level of concentration usually reserved for bomb disposal.

Steve was bored, so he wandered, wondering if he should get Sharon something sparkly. He'd drawn her a portrait and bought her a couple of those very, very thin cashmere sweaters she said were the perfect 'San Francisco' sweater, yet flinched at the cost.

It was probably pointless. She didn't really wear much jewelry. Getting her something would seem almost thoughtless, as if he didn't know her as well as he did. Which didn't explain why he was suddenly fascinated by a display of rings.

Diamond rings, to be specific.

She'd wear an engagement ring. He was pretty sure about that.

Bucky wandered over to him, yammering something about emeralds being pretty but too soft. He stopped when he saw what Steve was looking at. "Oh, _really_?"

He hunched his shoulders defensively. "I'm just looking."

"Don't get shy. Any of them catch your eye?"

"Even if I was going to buy an engagement ring, which I'm not saying I am, I'm not sure I want a diamond."

"Really? What were you thinking." He tilted his head. "She doesn't wear anything, does she?"

"She doesn't. And I have no idea. I don't object to the look, it's just that I did a tour with the UN Peacekeeping Force in Sierra Leone and I'm not too interested in paying into the other side of that." 

"We do see lab-made stones," the girl behind the counter piped up. She blushed a little when they both turned to look at her. "Um, I mean there's the diamonds, but some of the rarer stones almost all we sell is lab grown. They're the same stone, just a lot cheaper and no human cost. Plus you can get a much nicer stone."

He inclined his head. "You have my interest."

She waved him over and showed him some of the lab grown stones they had. They were very pretty and indistinguishable from the others. "And you can get rare ones, like this Alexandrite."

She took the ring out, and the color of the stone changed during removal from the case. "That's trippy," Bucky said.

"It interacts with different light wavelengths and changes color depending on what light."

Steve reached for it, intrigued. Its colors shifted slightly as he moved it. It had multiple colors hidden inside, depending on the angle the light refracted from. Never the same twice.

"That's my favorite," the girl told him conspiratorially. "It goes with everything."

"It's really beautiful," he said quietly. Was he really thinking about getting married. It was scary, but also somehow. . .settling. She was in his bones now, and he didn't want to be without her. He wanted to catch her when she fell, hold her hand when they were old, wipe the sweat off her forehead as she pushed their children into the world. The fundamental rightness of it all hit him like a punch in the gut.

Bucky patted him on the back. "Go on. I won't tease you a bit."

He had to clear his throat before he could say, "I'll take it."

The girl looked surprised but delighted. "Do you know the size?"

"No idea. Can she come back and have it sized?"

"Yes. I have it in an eight and I'll make a note to do a resize later. Do you want me to wrap it up?"

"Yes, please, thank you," he said. He glanced over at Bucky. "Really, not any teasing?"

"Nope. You love her and you deserve to be happy."

Steve felt himself blushing. "Thank you."

"The other guys, however, will probably tease you mercilessly."

"At least half of them are married," he replied. He dug out his wallet so he could hand over his credit card.

"Yeah, but any excuse to tease you, really."

 The girl rang him out and brought him a little bag with tissue on top. "Good luck," she said with a wide smile.

"Now here's the bigger question," he said to Bucky. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes. Even from Nat, before you asked." He looked at Steve askance. "How long are you going to wait?"

"Christmas," he said. "Obviously."

"That's gonna burn a hole in your pocket before that."

"I have very steady nerves," he replied. "I'll manage."

"Well, good luck." He slapped Steve on the back. "I'm happy for you."

*

Thanks to California's recent drought, there was some sort of Christmas Tree shortage this year, requiring Sharon and Steve to go to several lots before finding something that wasn't too Charlie Brown. There was no way it would fit in the elevator, so he carried it all the way up the stairs.

Having a big strong man in her life was, on occasion, handy.

They combined their ornaments, and Steve put the star on top because Sharon wasn't allowed on the step ladder. It came out very cute and the abundance of lights covered up any gaps. She warmed up some hot chocolate and they sat in the dark admiring it. "Perfect," she declared.

He rubbed her back. "How's the foot?"

"Also perfect. My PT is very proud of me."

"Your mother wants me to make sure I bring a folding chair for you for the movie line on Christmas Eve." There was a vintage theatre that played Miracle on 34th Street on Christmas Eve every year, and her family went every year, like religious families went to church. The event involved a lot of standing in line—though the line itself was kind of like a party, so half the fun. Steve had been excited. And apparently discussing it with her mother.

"I assumed you'd just carry me everywhere. Maybe get a little back carrier. Like a toddler."

He laughed. "We could probably make that work."

She tipped her head back and kissed him. "Do you have any Christmas traditions we need to indulge?"

"We always went to Mass. I have no interest in doing that. My mother put chocolate in our stockings." His voice was fond when he said the last sentence, and she made a mental note to get some chocolates for his stocking.

"I want you to know I would happily drag my heathen ass to church if that's what you wanted. But I'm even happier to sleep in."

"Sleeping in sounds like a great thing for us to make a tradition out of."

"And I will deadbolt the door so Nat and Bucky can't come wake us at dawn for the hell of it."

He laughed. "It's like you know them."

"They're a bad influence on each other," she grumbled as he cuddled her closer.

"Presents Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?"

"We always did them Christmas morning but could open one from some distant relative or other the night before."

"We did them in the morning, after Mass. We were pretty poor so there weren't many, but my mother always made great fuss and ceremony over them."

"Ceremony is half the fun." He didn't talk about his parents much. She knew his dad had died when he was a baby and his mom had raised him alone, until she'd died. It certainly explained why he loved her big boisterous crew.

He sifted his fingers through her hair. "It's a nice time to have a family."

"My family does love you." In a way that was really nice. Not that they'd hated her previous boyfriends or anything. But they just adored Steve.

"Yeah, but mostly it's you."

She grinned and leaned back to look at him. "I'm your family?"

He looked surprisingly serious. "Of course you are. Or, at least, I hope you will be."

"I guess I just hadn't thought of it that way before." Settling her head on his chest she listened to his heartbeat a moment. "I like the way it sounds."

His chest moved with the depth of the breath he took. "How would you feel about making that legal?"

For a moment the world seemed to freeze. Then she lifted his head to look at him again. "Steve?"

"I was going to have this for Christmas, but. . ." He shrugged a little, then pointed at the tree. "There's an ornament hanging in the middle, looks like a tiny gift box. You should open it." 

Her heart was pounding, but she slowly climbed off the couch and walked to the tree. It took her a minute to find the ornament that he was talking about. Once she'd located it, she took it off the branch and carried it back to the couch, sitting again.

She took a deep breath and opened the box. Inside a ring with a bright purple stone glittered up at her. It wasn't a diamond, but there was nothing about the presentation that didn't say "Engagement Ring."

"Oh," she breathed. Tears pricked her eyes and she looked up at him. "Really?"

"I kind of went out on a limb not getting a diamond, but there is some really nasty stuff I've seen first hand about diamond mining. But if you really want one, I can—"

"No, no. Steve, it's beautiful." She had no idea what is was but it was beautiful. "Are you gonna ask or-"

"Sorry! Yes." He cleared his throat. "Will you marry me?"

She grinned and the tears spilled over. "Yes. Of course."

He reached for her. "I love you so much."

Wrapping her arms around him, he hauled her into his lap. "I love you, too," she whispered.

After some debate, they decided to tell her family at Christmas dinner. But then when they went to meet everyone for the movie line—Christmas dinner being some manner of takeout eaten while in line—she found she really didn't want to take her engagement ring off.

"So do we say something or just wait for them to notice?" She and Steve had gotten the dinner-procurement short straw, and were standing in a taqueria waiting for their order to be called. Since it was 11 burritos, it was probably going to take a while. She'd planned to ask Nat to prep her something, but she was so nervous about meeting the Barnes clan that Sharon didn't bother. 

"I say we wait," she said, admiring her ring for the hundredth time. "See how long it takes."

"It'll probably eat them all night. 'Cause it's on the right finger, but since it's not an obvious diamond solitaire, it _could_ be a regular ring, and wouldn't that be awkward if they guessed wrong. Like asking a heavy woman if she's pregnant."

"You're only making me want to wait more. How often does one get to torture their family this way?"

"On Christmas, no less."

"Clearly I have a previously untapped evil streak."

Steve laughed, and then went to get the burritos when they called the number on their receipt. "You keep staring at it like that, it's going to be very obvious."

She liked staring at it. Every time she looked at it it was a slightly different color. "What if I just talked animatedly and waved my hands around a lot?"

He put an arm around her. "Are you trying to be evil or obvious?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I'm just excited. Like I'm bursting with wanting to tell everyone, but also want to keep it all to myself."

"I think we should tell them. It's happy news, it's Christmas, they'll make a fuss."

"Okay." She cuddled into his side. "It'll kill some time in line."

They hiked back with the burritos, swinging their linked hands between them like little kids. Her father and brother had staked out a good spot hours ago—the Carters were serious about good seats, and there were a lot of them. After the usual exchange of hugging, Steve passed the food around.

Her mother was wearing, she noted, a knit reindeer hat. Not entirely her usual style. She must have noticed Sharon's regard because she swallowed the bite she was chewing and said, "We opened the gifts from Aunt Edna before heading out. We fell asleep last year before opening something and your father was put out. You guys do any Christmas Eve gifts?"

And there was her mother, giving her an opening you could drive a bus through.

"Actually, yes. I opened something from Steve early." She shifted her burrito to her right hand and held out the other to show her ring. "It came with a question."

There was a moment of utter silence. Then her mother shrieked and leapt forward to hug her. Her mother's burrito went flying in the air, pelting everyone with rice and beans and unfortunate hunks of guacamole.

"Mom!" Sharon said, barely getting her food out of the way. Her father and brothers were laughing and passing napkins and handkerchiefs around to clean up.

Her mother moved on to hug Steve, apparently unconcerned with the mess. He met her eyes over the top of her mother's head and grinned. "Merry Christmas."

Her dad had cleaned up enough to scoop her up in a big bear hug. She squeaked and gave Steve a grin of her own. "Welcome to the family."


	13. Chapter 13

_The January after next._

The Most Beautiful Baby in the World was born on a Sunday morning, after a panicked drive across the city. Sharon and her quirky luck had gone into labor on Chinese New Year, with the epic, city halting parade between them and the hospital. The length of the labor made the urgency look silly, but by the time they put the bloody, squalling baby on her chest, Steve had never been more in awe of his wife.

They let him cut the cord, which was both awesome and gross and he probably wouldn't remember it given how stunned he was. Sharon was grinning and crying and laughing and babbling at their daughter, who had stopped wailing and was rooting around for her first meal. A nurse helped her get lined up, covered the baby and Sharon with a warm towel and stepped back so Steve could step closer.

"I did it," Sharon said, grinning up at him.

"I am so proud of you," he said. He wiped his eyes since he seemed to be crying. She'd gone the first ten hours of her labor without medication before finally breaking—which was far longer than he'd have lasted. She'd cried a little and he'd told her what he'd told a dozen guys in the field: there is _no_ medal for refusing morphine after you get shot. As a commander, he'd ordered people to take it.

The baby finished her snack and they let the nurse take her to get cleaned up and weighed and all that stuff. Sharon's doctor finished up whatever she was doing down below and then they moved them to a different room. Steve took the moment of peace to send out the list of text messages with promises of pictures soon. A nurse brought in an isolette with a pink bundle inside a few minutes later.

"Have you decided on a name?" she asked, parking the trolley next to the bed.

He exchanged a glance with Sharon. "We have not."

"Well, her card will say Baby Girl Rogers. You can change it when you think of it."

"Thank you," Sharon said.

Steve picked up the baby to hand her over to Sharon. "How long do you think they'll let us dither on that?"

"I think they need to file the birth certificate before we leave the hospital."

He leaned over to touch her cheek. They hadn't found a name they liked, and hoped it would come to them when they saw her. But he was too busy being awed to think of any.

Sharon studied her a moment, leaning on him when he got close. "What about Angela?"

He kissed her temple. "I like it."

She sighed softly and closed her eyes. "I might nap."

"You deserve a nap," he told her. He gently took the baby from her. "You were wonderful."

"Thank you. And thank you for the pep talk."

"I think now you definitely deserve a medal."

"I'll just borrow one of yours."

Steve tucked his daughter against his shoulder and tucked Sharon in. "Sleep, honey, sleep. I adore you."

"Mmm." She shifted and nuzzled her face into the pillow already sleeping. Steve settled in the chair by the bed and rocked Abigail, humming softly.


End file.
